BEAUTIES OP THE COURT OP CHARI.ES THE SECOND. t Comprising the whole of the celebrated suite of Paintings by Sir Peter Lely, PRESERVED IN THE WINDSOR GAI.I.ERV, And several from the Devonshire, Grosvenor and Althorp Galleries, CXQUISITEIi'S' ENGRAVED BV THE FIRST ARTISTS, Forming a splendid Series of Portraits, illustrative of the Memoirs of Evelyn, Pepys, Clarendon, and other contemporary Writers of tliat gay and interesting period. WITH BZOCB.APKXCAI, nXEMOIRS AJUD AirECDOTES, AND AN INTRODUCTORY VIEW OF THE STATE OF FEMALE SOCIETY, BY MRS. JAMESON, Authoress of the ‘ Diary of an Ennuy^e,’ ‘ Lives of celebrated Female Sovereigns’ ^c, ^c. ONE HANDSOME VOLUME, ROYAL QUARTO, PUBLISHED AT £5. 5s. Or on Large Paper, in Folio, with Proof Impressions on India Paper, published £10. 10s. “This truly beautiful and splendid production IS EQUALLY A GEM AMONG THE FINE ARTS AND IN LITE¬ RATURE, and is altogether one of the most interesting publica¬ tions that has appeared for a long time. Although £5. 5s. for a single volume may at first appear somewhat costly, we consider it singularly low priced with reference to its beauty and in¬ trinsic value. “It is not generally known, we believe, that we are in some measure indebted for this brilliant and tasteful collection to her Royal Highness the late lamented Princess Charlotte, who ex¬ pressly commissioned Mr. Murphy to make the drawings. At her decease, the collection came into the possession of Sir Gerard Noel, and by his encouragement, under the patronage of his Grace the Duke of Devonshire, the work has at length been completed, and A more beautiful volume of the kind DOES NOT EXIST. “ Mrs. Jameson’s diligence of research,—her charms of style, —the acuteness, force, and justness of her remarks,—her cha¬ racteristic touches,—the racy and piquant manner in which she relates an anecdote,—are too well known to require eulogy from us.”— Court Journal. “ Nothing can be finer than the tact with which Mrs. Jame¬ son enters into the infinite varieties of the feminine character— nothing more delicate than the discrimination with which she marks the boundaries of feeling.”— Literary Gazette. “ An EXQUISITE VOLUME. It was observed by Lord Orford, nearly fifty years ago, that the Beauties of Windsor, so delight¬ fully painted by Sir Peter Lely, ought to be proportionably well engraved. It is not a little singular that no attempt has till now been made to produce these lovely PORTRAITS, IN A STYLE WORTHY OF THE BEAUTY AND INTEREST OF THE SUBJECTS. Such of them as have been published in the different editions of Grammont, are very inferior as works of art. The present publication will, therefore, supply what has long been a desideratum in the fine arts. “ The accompanyhig Memoirs, critical and biographical, from the pen of the accomplished author of the Diary of an En- nuyee, are so many specimens of exquisite composition. The ground is a delicate one, particularly for a female; but Mrs. Jameson has managed it with infinite tact and propriety. Some op her pictures are of rare excellence and HIGH VALUE.”— New Monthly Magazine. “ Mrs. Jameson stands apart from all the female writers of the day; she is unlike them all not only in what she does, but in her manner of doing it. Her taste is of the purest and most elevated order ; she pursues intellectual inquiries fin- the sake of the moral good and beauty they develope.”— Atlas. IiIST OF THE PORTRAITS. tcS* Many of these have never been engraved before, and of the others only two are found in Lodge's Collection. As they are all engraved on copper, and finished with great delicacy, fine impressions cannot be multiplied. CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA, QUEEN OF CHARLES II. BARBARA VILLIERS, DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. “ More of a Montespan than a La Valliere—more of an Alice Pierce than a Jane Shore.” FRANCES THERESA STEWART, DUCHESS OF RICHMOND. “ Than whom few have been more conspicuous during their life, or more celebrated since their deatn.” ELIZABETH PERCY, DUCHESS OF SOMERSET. “ Three times a wife and twice a widow before she was sixteen. Afterwards one of the greatest ornaments of the Court of William and Anne.” LOUISE DE QUEROUAILLE, DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. “ One of the most absolute of Royal favourites, and one of the most striking examples of the mischief of female usur¬ pation in political afiairs. Her history conveys a deep lesson.” 2 LA BELLE JENNINGS, DUCHESS OF TYRCONNEL. “ The fair, the elegant, and fascinating; who robbed the men of their hearts, the women of their lovers, and never lost herself.” MARY BUTLER, THE FIRST DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. “ Fair, kind, and true—and wedded to a Nobleman, who to the valour and bearing of a Paladin of old Romance, added the spirit of an ancient Roman.” ELIZABETH BUTLER, COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD. “ Captivating and piquante, with brilliant wit: one of the fair principals of Grammont’s celebrated story of the Bas-verts.” ELIZ. WRIOTHESLEY, COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. “ Distinguished for her uncommon grace and beauty, and the blameless tenor of her life; sister of the celebrated Lady Russell.” EMILIE DE NASSAU, COUNTESS OF OSSORY. “ Gentle and blameless: Interesting from her extreme beauty, her tenderness, and her feminine virtues; the daughter, wife, and mother of heroes.” LA BELLE HAMILTON, COUNTESS DE GRAMMONT. “ Young, beautiful, wise, and witty, and discreet withal, ‘ even to detraction’s desperation.’” ANNE DIGBY, COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. “ Beautiful and blameless. Tlie friend of the angelic Lady Russell and of the excellent Evelyn.” HENRIETTA BOYLE, COUNTESS OF ROCHESTER. “ Amiable, mteresting, and exemplary.” ANNE HAMILTON, COUNTESS OF SOUTHESK. ‘‘ Whose faults, follies, and miseries, constitute a tale well fitted to ‘ point a moral.’ ” SUSAN ARMINE, LADY BELLA8YS. “ Renowned for her beauty, wit, and high spirit, and recorded as the mistress of James, Duke of York, only through her voluntary resignation of the marriage contract, by whkh she had really become united to him.” ELIZABETH BROOKE, LADY DENHAM. “ Beauteous and arrogant; a lamentable contrast to the gentle Lady Ossory; but interesting from her tragical and mysterious ELIZ. BAGOT, LADY FALMOUTH AND CO. OF DORSET. “ Who became in succession the irreproachable wife of two libertine Lords. All we know of her excites a wish to know more.” MRS. NOTT. “ A fair, sentimental, and Madonna-like creature; one of the most admired of the Windsor Beauties.” MRS. MIDDLETON. “ The fair coquette, one of Grammont’s special heroines. It is impossible to look on this lovely portrait without wishing to know something of the charming original.” MISS LAWSON. “ Mild and gentle, yet opposing the fortitude of Virtue to the perils of a licentious Court.” NELL GWYNN. “ Pretty, witty, meri-y, open-hearted Nelly, whose redeeming qualities make even the justice of history half loth to condemn her.” THE BEAUTIES OF THE COURT OF KING CHARLES THE SECOND. LONDON PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY, Dorset Street, Fleet Street. ^•s» /ranees Jeuntme Tk^r>cior yir*' fie e^A>.‘rcJ.v/f. /.,^ru.':rt . ■•<■•/.‘.^th-eii/'.:r ff i '/jHicm fy R.£eMlev. Gu-''J832. • f* •> r i' i V' ■ w . t- . } -ai_«.' r- ai_". r y» ' . •. - f. 7^' V ■ •■■:^ • 5 *^ .'X, . % h- . ’A-' . 7 V ■^* ‘ 3/ «... V*. .■* iT: «!'*■ /- '’-f • ■« 'yi •- • ‘ '■■' <(^x ■>■ .' ';■ A’- • < -■■ -• v ,.t :. ' ■ {y-v' I,r''-. * 777^7' fc ''■^p - ■ ,!'■? - - s, • It *l ■ (■■ '*’>/.•> <5*i. T.i^V ^ .5 j < ■ Tj,. X*n '? , f.- > *' i ■••'•’.' #. *P , t ■ - r •*%z . » . '•A • tl' % \ rtjL^v -JL- -e»-oLo ' ir-jj: THE BEAUTIES OF THE COURT OF KING CHARLES THE SECOND A SERIES OF PORTRAITS, ILLUSTRATING THE DIARIES OF PEPYS, EVELYJ^, CLARENDON, AND OTHER CONTEMPORARY WRITERS. WITH l3iograplbHal anti (jrrttuaL MRS. JAMESON, AUTHORESS OF “ MEMOIRS^ THE LOVES OF THE POETS,” “ LIVES OF FEMALE SOVEREIGNS,” &c. THE PORTRAITS FROM COPIES MADE FOR HER LATE ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE, BY MR. MURPHY, DEDICATED BY PERMISSION TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF DEVONSHIRE. LONDON: PUBLISHED FOR HENRY COLBURN BY RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET, AND SOLD BY THE PRINCIPAL BOOK AND PRIN'FSELLEUS. 1833. • . _-A Ivr- .rr#-. i. > L^. *H^-. 'VtT t**,S ■ » lk'« ^ 4 - 3i‘ • -»» ..iif. U 'da ■•i* ^ •< 'Is^Sr. -' * -v V>.'' -iS-v ■wv^*” X«J»' • it “ ;f«r* . i • ' ,(•»' t L« ^ * •^ss ij*^*****-^ u , .* # .‘<-J •x.'^ - 1 I ilt'BfcMI'fl ■■ ll^l^j-'' i-’j J ' ■“ * 'V.- " 1 I f,> t3trt'Vr»»tl^|i{^U ■‘ ■ 'i' >•■ *-^y 1» -.^- ' K3 f 4 .'''_.» 2 7-^ .-• ^‘■ «<• > "i* f'-i All ^ ' 7 *%,. d dri'ti iTJ ^ -■> ixf ■ * . \r-^^‘ a S * * -d - IfV V *■'-## - /!. V4> ;-i f ( . ■• *; • ‘ ; >■ r ••''L ■ -yf- / I * ‘is.i' ni !’. ... f f9*{f f ■(> ,b')^ .■r VT •' ‘‘j > 'fia'tllH »' ;i 1 >'■] .4 ‘ii»•<■•»'> t ♦ • , - 4 . J» * - * ' ,."'3 i .1 jh’• *>'ti vM -'i;^ A^'’ *•» I i .' .1 •r^' .4 •• r ':?) jh'i/.' Yl! 1- « i» ;i *( *f^ ,1 ) <• ^ -B: ^ 4 * tt r* r CONTENTS CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA . . . Page 25 BARBARA, DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND . . .43 LA BELLE HAMILTON (COUNTESS DE GRAMMONT) . . 55 EMILIA, COUNTESS OF OSSORY ... 69 LADY DENHAM . . . . .81 NELL GVVYNN ..... 85 ELIZABETH, DUCHESS OF SOMERSET . . .97 FRANCES, DUCHESS OF RICHMOND . . . loi MRS. LAWSON . . . .108 ELIZABETH, COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD . . in HENRIETTA, COUNTESS OF ROCHESTER . . .120 MISS BAGOT . . . . . 128 MRS. NOTT . . . . .134 ANNE, COUNTESS OF SOUTHESK . . .136 SUSAN, LADY BELLASYS . . . .141 THE COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND . . . 147 MRS. MIDDLETON . . . . ,159 THE COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND . . 165 THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH . . . .175 THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE . . . 194 MISS JENNINGS . . . . .202 DIRECTIONS FOR PLACING THE PLATES. THE PORTRAITS are to be severally placed opposite the First page of each Memoir, with the exception of that of LA BELLE JENNINGS, which is to form a FRONTISPIECE to the Volume, and be placed opposite to the Title-page. INTRODUCTION. “ In days of ease, when now the weary sword Was sheathed, and luxury with Charles restor’d. In every taste of foreign courts improved. All by the King’s example, lived and loved. The soldier breathed the gallantries of France, And every flowery courtier writ romance ; Lely on animated canvas stole The sleepy eye that spoke the melting soul."— Pope. It is the peculiar privilege of the Portrait painter to immortalize Beauty, to give duration to the most perishable of Heaven’s gifts, and bestow upon the Fair “ a thousand years of bloom.” When the poet has done his utmost to describe the charms which kindled his fancy and inspired his song, when in the divine spirit of his art he has arrayed The thing he doats upon, with colouring Richer than roses, brighter than the beams Of the clear sun at morning: when he has decked out the idol of his imagination in all the pomp of words, and similes culled from whatever is sweetest and loveliest in creation— the bloom of flowers, the freshness of the dawn, the breathings of the spring, and the sparkling of the stars—he has but given us the elements, out of which we compose a Beauty, each after a fashion and fancy of our own. Painting alone can place before us the personal identity of the poet’s divinity—made such by the superstition of love. When the historian has told us, that Mark Antony lost the world for a woman, and sold an empire for B 6 INTRODUCTION. Cleopatra’s smile, his eloquence can go no further; the record of her beauty lives upon his page; her beauty itself only in the faith of our imagination. What would we not give to gaze indeed upon that “ brow of Egypt”— " The love, the spell, the bane of Antony,” such as the pencil of Arellius might have transmitted it to us ? It is true, that when the personage is purely ideal and poetical, we do not willingly part with the imaginary form, which has been stamped upon our individual fancy, for any imitative semblance. We have no desire to see a portrait of the lady in Comus, or the Jewess Rebecca, or Gulnare, or Corinne, or Mignonne. In these and similar instances, the best of Painters will scarce equal either the creation of the Poet, or its vivid reflection in our own minds: but where the personage is real or historical, the feeling is reversed: we ask for truth even at the risk of dis¬ appointment; and are willing to exchange the vaguely beautiful figure which has dwelt upon our fancy, for the defined reality, however different, and in all probability inferior. When lingering in a gallery of pictures, with what eagerness of attention do we approach a portrait of Mary Stuart, or Lucrezia d’Este, or Tasso’s Leonora! Lady Sunderland* and Lady Bridgewater might have hung and mouldered upon the walls of Blenheim, of no more regard than other dowagers of quality, if Waller had not sung the disdainful charms of the first, and Pope celebrated the eyes and the virtues of the latter. Yet on the other hand, were it not for Vandyke and Kneller, we should scarce have sympathised in Waller’s complaints of “ Sacharissa’s haughty scorn,” or understood the inffuence of “ Bridgewater’s eyes.” If the portrait some¬ times derives from the poet or historian its best value, the beauty of the portrait as often makes us turn with redoubled interest to the page of the poet. After looking at the picture of Hortense Mancini in the Stafford gallery, we take down St. Evremond with added zest: and who has not known what it is to pause before some beautiful “ portrait unknown” of Titian or Vandyke, with a sigh of baffled interest, calling upon our imagination to supply the lack of tradition, and asking such questions * The eldei- Lady Sunderland, Lady Dorothea Sidney. INTRODUCTION. 7 as Lord Byron asks of Cecilia Metella with as little possibility of being satisfied:— “ Was she chaste and fair!— What race of chiefs and heroes did she bear I What daughter of her beauties was the heir t How lived, how loved, how died she 1”— Or, who ever gazed upon the Portrait at Windsor of Venetia Digby, without a devouring, but vain curiosity to pierce the mystery of her story and her fate 1 The silence of the grave rests upon both. A few scattered and contradictory notices, and all that painting could express of the matchless beauties of her face and form, remain to us: dust and an endless darkness have swallowed, up the rest! * “ Lely alone,” says Walpole, “ can excuse the gallantries of Charles: he painted an apology for that Asiatic court—bear witness these lovely forms, which his pencil has rescued from death and fate, and preserved to us even in the loveliest looks they wore on earth: “ Redundant are those locks, those lips as fair. As when their breath enriched Thessalian air.’' But, says Morality, and frowns, how is the world or posterity benefited by celebrating the charms and the errors of these fair pieces of sin and mis¬ chief, who ought rather to do penance with their faces to the wall, than thus boldly attempt to dazzle and blind our severer judgement by the blaze of their attractions ? Or, if they must needs be preserved as valuable works of art, why should we not gaze upon them merely as such ? While thus they smile upon us from the almost breathing canvas, serene in their silent beauty, why should we be forced to remember, that faces so fair were ever stained by passion, or clouded by grief, or wrinkled by time ? If the severe His¬ torian must needs stain his page with that disgraceful era of profligacy and blood, as a record and a warning to future ages, let the Poet forget it— • Venetia Digby was the wife of Sir Kenelm Digby : the emblematical accompaniments of her picture cannot now be explained or understood. She was of noble—of the noblest blood: her father was a Stanley; her mother. Lady Lucy Percy : yet Aubrey calls her a courtezan. She married Sir Kenelm Digby, while yet very young, and at the age of thirty was found dead, her head resting on her hand, in the attitude of one asleep. Some said she was poisoned by her husband through jealousy j others that her death was caused by certain medicaments and preparations he had administered to enhance the power of her charms, of which he was enamoured even to madness. Sir Kenelm Digby was not only the handsomest man and most accomplished cavalier of his time, but a Statesman, a Courtier, a Philosopher, and a dabbler in judicial Astrology and Alchemy. 8 INTRODUCTION. let the Lover forget it; above all, let Women forget the period which saw them degraded from objects of adoration to servants of pleasure, and gave the first blow to that chivalrous feeling with which their sex had hitherto been regarded, by levelling the distinction between the un¬ blemished matron and her who was the “ ready spoil of opportunity,”—Let them be the first to fling a veil over what woman should shrink to look upon, and exclaim like Claire, when she threw the pall over the perishing features of Julie—“ Maudite soit 1’ indigne main qui jamais soulevera ce voile ! ” This would be well, if it were possible; but it is not. Of late a variety of causes have combined to fix the public attention upon the age of Charles the Second; and to render interesting every circumstance connected with his court and reign. Common gallantry requires that we should no longer suffer the beauties of that day to be libelled by the caricature resemblances, which have hitherto, by way of illustrating, deformed the editions of De Grammont: it is due to the good taste of Charles, to give him the full benefit of the excuse which Lely’s pencil afforded him: and, lastly, common justice not only to the dead, but the living, requires that the innocent shoiild not be confounded with the guilty. Most of those who visit the gallery of Beauties at Windsor, leave it with the impression that they have been intro¬ duced into a set of kept mistresses. Truly, it seems hard, that such women as Lady Northumberland, Miss Hamilton, Lady Ossory, whose fair reputa¬ tions no slanderous wit dared to profane while living, should be condemned to posthumous dishonour, because their pictures hang in the same room with those of Middleton and Denham. It is difficult to touch upon the female influence of Charles’s reign, without being either betrayed into an unbeseeming levity, or assuming a tone of unseasonable severity: yet thus much may be said; the Memoirs, which have been collected to illustrate these beautiful Portraits have been written without any design of raking up forgotten scandal, or varnishing over vice; and equally without any presumptuous idea of benefiting the world and posterity ; but certainly not without a deep feeling of the lesson they are fitted to convey. Virtue is scarcely virtue, till it has stood the test: a woman who could pass through the ordeal of such a court as that of Charles the Second unstained in person and in reputation, may be supposed to have possessed a more than common share of innate virtue and feminine dignity; and she who stooped to folly, at least left no temptation to others to INTRODUCTION. 9 follow her example. When, from the picture of Castlemaine, in her triumphant beauty, we turn to her last years and her death, there lies in that transition a deeper moral than in twenty sermons : let woman lay it to her heart. But a lighter and a gayer subject demands the pen. The obvious con¬ nection between beauty and dress, and the influence of the reigning fashions upon the style of the portrait painter, render it necessary to say a few words of the costume of Charles the Second’s time, as illustrative of the following Portraits and Memoirs. At the period of the Restoration, and for some years afterwards, the style of dress retained something of the picturesque elegance of Charles the First’s time. French fashions prevailed indeed, more or less, during the whole of the succeeding reign: French tailors, milliners, hair-dressers, and tire-women were then, as now, indispensable; but it was not till a later period, after a secret and disgraceful treaty had made Charles a pensioned creature of France, that the English court became, in dress and manners, a gross and caricatured copy of the court of Louis the Fourteenth. Before the introduction of perukes, men as well as women wore their hair long and curling down their shoulders: the women, in particular, had their tresses artfully arranged in elaborate ringlets, partly loose, or confined to the back of the head by jewels or knots of riband, as in the portraits of Lady Northumberland and Lady Rochester. The general effect was graceful and feminine; till, like other fashions, it was carried to an excess; and artificial curls were worn to supply the want or scarcity of natural hair. The men wore coats of cloth,, velvet, or serge; and in full dress of gold and silver tissue, richly slashed and covered with embroidery: large bows of riband of various colours, wherever they could be placed, on the shoulders, at the breast, at the knees, at the sword-hilt, distinguished the “ ruffling gallants” of the court.* The dress of the ladies was, in material, rich silk or sattin, sometimes brocaded with gold and silver ;-f- and consisted of a long boddice • Evelyn humourously alludes to this extravagant fashion. “ He met,” he says, “ a fine thing in Westminster Hall, that had as much riband about him as would have plundered six shops, and set up twenty pedlars: a frigate newly rigged kept not half such a clatter in a storm as this puppet’s streamers did, when the wind was in his shrouds .”—Tyrannus or the Mode. — Evelyn’s Memoirs, vol. 2. t Pepys mentions that his wife and Lady Castlemaine purchased a dress oflF the same piece of silk, for which they paid 15s. a yard j this is, as if a lady of these days, was to pay three guineas a yard for a gown. 10 INTRODUCTION. fitted to the shape, and cut low in the bosom, a tucker or laced chemise ap¬ pearing above. This boddice was open down the front, and fastened with brooches of jewels, or knots of riband, or creves, as in the Portraits of the Duchess of Richmond and Lady Sunderland. The skirt was worn full with many plaits, and sufficiently short to shew the ankles: the sleeves were gene¬ rally full, long and very wide, gathered and looped up high in front with jewels; and shewing beneath a white sleeve of fine linen or cambric, em¬ broidered or trimmed with lace. This must have been rather an inconvenient fashion ; but very graceful in appearance, and calculated to set off a beautiful arm to the greatest possible advantage. The custom of patching the face prevailed about this time, and continued till the days of the Spectator; when, as we are told, the Tory ladies patched on one side of the face, and those of the Whig persuasion on the other; till Addison’s exquisite raillery rendered both patching and party-spirit un¬ fashionable. Shoe buckles were now first introduced, instead of the large roses of ribband formerly worn; and green stockings were affected by some of the court ladies, for reasons which politeness forbids us to mention—except in a note.* Every one who has read De Grammont, will recollect the green stockings of the beautiful Lady Chesterfield, which made the Duke of York swear so gallantly, that there was “ point de salut sans des has verts.” In 1666, the King, in order to repress the increasing luxury of dress, and, as Mr. Pepys expresses it, “ to teach the nobility thrift,” declared in council his design of adopting a certain habit, which he was resolved never to alter. It consisted of a long close vest of black cloth or velvet, pinked with white sattin; a loose coat over it of the Polish fashion; and instead of shoes and stockings, buskins or brodequins.-j* Some of the young courtiers, aware of the King’s versatility, laid wagers with him that he would not continue in this fashion beyond a certain time ; which proved the case. “ It was,” says • Elle r a (la jambe) grosse et couite, poursuivit-il, et pour diminuer ses defauts autant que cela se peut, elle ne porte presque jamais que des bas verts .—De Grammont. t See Echard’s History cf England, vol. II, p. 836, and Evelyn’s Memoirs. “ Oct. 8th. The King hath yesterday in Council declared his resolution of setting a fashion for clothes, which he will never alter; it will be a vest, I know not well how, but it will teach the nobility thrift, and will do good.” “ 17 th. The Court is all full of vests, only my Lord St. Albans (Jermyn) not pinked, but plain black ; and they say, the King says that the pinking upon white, makes them look too much like magpies ; so hath bespoke one of plain velvet.”— Pepy’s Diary, vol. I. p. 471. INTRODUCTION. II Evelyn, “ a comely and a manly habit; too good to hold, it being impossible for us to leave the Monsieur’s vanities long.” The use of ladies’ riding habits or Amazonian habits, as they were termed, was introduced in this reign. It was the custom for the Queen and the Maids of Honour, to accompany the King in his hawking parties, mounted upon fine horses, and attended by the courtiers. To ride well, was then an admired female accomplishment: it appears that the peculiar grace with which Miss Stewart sat and managed her horse, was one of her principal attractions in the eyes of the King ; and that Miss Churchill had nearly lost the heart of the Duke of York by her equestrian awkwardness. Cocked hats, laced with gold, and trimmed with white, black, and red feathers were worn by both sexes. Pepys records his admiration of Miss Stewart in her “ cocked hat and red plume,” as she returned from riding. A particularly smart and knowing cock of the hat was assumed by the young gallants, called the “ Monmouth cock,” after the Duke Monmouth. In the latter part of Charles’s reign, the close and disgraceful connexion between the French and English courts, delivered us up to French interests, French politics, and French fashions. This was the era of those enormous perukes, which in the succeeding reigns of William and Anne attained to such a preposterous size.* Mustachios on the upper lip disappeared from court, but were not finally abolished till the succeeding reign. At this time, the exposure of the neck and shoulders was carried to such a shameless extreme, that even women of character and reputation, scarcely affected a superficial decency of attire. Painting the face, which had declined since Queen Eliza¬ beth’s time, was again introduced from France, and became a fashion. Hoods of various colours were worn, and long trains which caused, very unreasonably, almost as much scandal as the meretricious display of the person.*!" Women instead of wearing long ringlets clustering doM'n the neck, began to frizzle up their hair like periwigs, as in the portrait of the * They were first worn by a Duke of Anjou, to conceal a personal deformity, and adopted by the court in compliment to him. In the same spirit, when Philip of Macedon was wounded in the forehead, all his courtiers walked about with bandages round their heads. t In the Preface to a curious religious Tract, entitled “ A just and seasonable Reprehension of the enormity of naked breasts and shoulders,” published by a Non-conformist DNine, but translated as the title sets forth, from the French of a grave and learned Papist, these long trains are censured with much spiritual indignation, as “ a monstrous superfluity of cloth or silk that must be dragged after them, 12 INTRODUCTION. Duchess of Portsmouth. It is remarkable, that the elevation, decline, and fall of the female coeffiire, comprised exactly a century. It began to rise between 1680 and 1690 ; rose gradually for the next fifty years, and reached its extremest height toward the end of George the Second s reign, when it absolutely emulated the tower of Babel: from that time it declined by slow degrees, and about the period of the French Revolution, the heads of our women began to assume their natural shape and proportion. Other fashions and tastes of Charles’s time may be dismissed in a few words. The King, from spending his youth abroad, and perhaps in earlier years from his Mother, had imbibed a decided partiality for the language and literature of France; and after his return to the throne, French became the fashionable language at court. The patriotic Evelyn inveighs against this innovation; and only excuses the King as having “ in some sort a right to speak French, he being King of France.”* There are some lines in Andrew Marvel’s works, in allusion to this fashion, so beautiful and so little known, that I cannot deny myself the pleasure of quoting them. " Caslia, whose English doth more richly flow Than Tagus—purer than dissolved snow. And sweet as are her lips that speak it, she Now learns the tongues of France and Italy: But she is Caelia still; no other grace But her own smiles commend that lovely face ! J Her native beauty’s not Italianated, Nor her chaste mind into the French translated ; Her thoughts are English, though her speaking wit With other language doth them fitly fit.” Here compliment and reproof are exquisitely blended: but Dryden, in the Comedy of Marriage a-la Mode, has rallied the same fashion with more severity, and infinite comic humour. Melantha, the fine Lady of the piece, most industriously interlards her discourse with French phraseology. “ No one can be so curious of a new fashion, as she is of a new French word; she is the very mint of the nation; and, as fast as any bullion comes out of France, coins it immediately into our language.” F Her or carried by another, or fardelled behind them.” There is an anecdote of a lady of that time, who being forbidden, by court etiquette, to bring her train bearers into the Queen’s presence, had her train made long enough to reach into the anti-chamber. • Preface to the Essay in Evelyn’s works, entitled “ Tyrannus or the Mode.” t Marriage k-la-Mode, Act i. Scene 1. In a subsequent scene, Melantha thus expresses her admira¬ tion of a French, and her contempt for an English Beau:—How charming is the French air! and what an etourdi bite is one of our untravelled Islanders! When he would make his court to me, let me die. INTRODUCTION. 13 waiting-maid, who is the “ heir of her cast words, as well as of her old clothes,” and supplies her toilette every morning with a list of new French words, for her daily conversation, betrays her vocabulary to her lover, who is thus enabled to attack her with her own weapons, and wins her by out-doing her in affectation, and overpowering her with her own nonsense.* The Character of Melantha in this play, or rather the admirable per¬ formance of the part, by the celebrated actress Mrs. Montfort, is con¬ sidered by Cibber as a most lively and just representation of a fantastic fine lady of Charles’s time. His sketch is so very amusing, and so apropos to our subject, that it is given in his own words. “ Melantha,” he says, “ is as finished an impertinent as ever fluttered in a drawing room; and “ seems to contain the most complete system of female foppery that could “ possibly be crowded into the tortured form of a fine lady. Her language, “ dress, motion, manners, soul, and body are in a continual hurry to “ be something more than is necessary or commendable. The first ridi- “ culous airs that bi’eak from her, are upon a gallant never seen before, who “ delivers her a letter from her father, recommending him to her good “ graces as an honourable lover. Here now, one would think, she might “ naturally shew a little of the sex’s decent reserve, though never so “ slightly covered. No, sir, not a tittle of it: modesty is a poor-souled “ country gentlewoman: she is too much a court lady to be under so vulgar “ a confusion. She reads the letter, therefore, with a careless dropping lip, “ and erected brow, humming it hastily over, as if she were impatient to “ outgo her father’s commands by making a complete conquest of him at “once; and that the letter might not embarrass the attack, crack! she “ crumbles it at once into her palm, and pours down on him her whole “ artillery of airs, eyes, and motion : down to the ground goes her dainty “ diving body, as if she were sinking under the weight of her own attrac- “ tions; then she launches into a flood of fine language and compliment, “ still playing her chest forward in fifty falls and risings, like a swan upon “ waving water; and, to complete her impertinence, she is so x'apidly fond “ of her own wit, that she will not give her lover leave to praise it. Silent “ assenting bows, and vain endeavours to speak, are all the share of the but he is just ^sop’s Ass, that would imitate the courtly French in their addresses; but, instead of those, comes pawing upon me, and doing all things, so mal-a-droiily. Act 2. Scene I. • In the list of Melantha’s modish and new-fangled French words, the reader is surprised to find several which are now so completely naturalised, that the date of their introduction is only thus ascer. taiued, &a figure, conversation, grimace, embarrassed, ridicule, good graces, &c. C 14 INTRODUCTION. “ conversation he is admitted to, which, at last, he is removed from by her “ engagement to half a score of visits, which she swims from him to make, “ with a promise to return in a twinkling.” * This spirited sketch is possibly dashed with seme little caricature and exaggeration, but it is evidently from tbe life: and we are tempted bere to pause, and consider tbe revolutions in taste and manner, and contras^ the tawdry affectation, the flaunting airs, the fluttering movements, the laborious volubility,—in a word, the intolerable vulgarity of a fine lady of Charles’s court, with the calm, quiet elegance, the refined and unobtru¬ sive simplicity, which distinguish the really well-bred woman of our time. Notwithstanding what De Grammont says of the politeness of the English court, the general profligacy of morals was accompanied by a grossness of manners and language in both sexes, scarcely to be credited in these days. Women of condition scrupled not to swear “ good mouth-filling oaths,” such as Hotspur recommended to his wife. The licence introduced and en¬ dured upon the stage, was not certainly borrowed from the French theatre, but encouraged by the depraved taste of the King; and supported by the prostituted talents of Dryden and the wit of Etheridge, D’Avenant, Killi- grew, Wycherly, it spread the contagion far and wide, where the influence and example of the court could not otherwise have extended. Women of reputation and virtue, married and unmanned, frequented the theatre, which was then a favourite and fashionable place of amusement; from which in summer they adjourned to the Park or Spring Gardens ; the performances being over about the time they now begin. How any woman, not wholly abandoned, could sit out one of the fashionable comedies of those days, appears incomprehensible: most of them, indeed, paid so much external homage to modesty, as to appear in masks ; which, from the facilities they afforded to intrigue, were then a useful appendage to the female costume. To this Pope alludes: " The fair sat panting at a courtier’s play, ^ And not a mask went unimproved away ; ’ The modest fan was lifted up no more. And virgins smiled at what they blushed before.” The fashionable poetry and light hterature of the day, consisted chiefly of love songs, epigrams, epistles, and satires; all tinged, more or * Cibber’s Apology, 99. INTRODUCTION. 15 less, with the same 'perverted and licentious spirit. Well might Dryden in self-humiliation exclaim— “ O gracious God! how oft have we Profaned thy sacred'gift of poesy, Made prostitute aud profligate the muse !—” A vicious taste for personal scandal, was one of the most marked charactei'istics of that period. The age deserved, the lash of satire ; but they who coarsely satirised it, often committed “ most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin.” There is, however, a wide difference between the spirit and talent of the various satirists then in vogue: some, like Marvel, Denham, and Rochester, mangled their prey like “ carcases for houndsothers, like Dryden and Butler, “ carved it as a dish fit for the Gods.” In those days newspapers were not, as now, the vehicles for fashionable chit-chat and satire. Coffee-houses,* which had lately been established, were the resort of the gallants, the poets and wits of the time; and the usual method of cir¬ culating a court lampoon, or any piece of malicious or political wit, was by transcripts handed about in the coffee-houses, till they fell at last into the hands of some obscure printer, who loved his profit better than his ears; and by dashes and stars, (another invention of that time,) contrived at once to fix the scandal and elude the law./i The last successful play of Dryden, the last court lampoon of Dorset, or the last new love song of Sedley or Suckling, then comprised the light reading of a fine lady. As yet novels were not: the serious and prolix romances in folio of Calprenede, Scuderi, and D’Urfe,—Clelie, and the Gi’and Cyrus, were the only works of fiction then fashionable; and in their pictures of pastoral purity and exalted love, and high wrought tone of im¬ possible heroism and double-refined sentiment, fonned so strong a contrast to the prevailing manners and tastes, that one wonders how the gay gallants and court dames of that period, could ever have had patience to pore over them:—but thus it was. Charles loved and patronised music’;i' and the germ of the Italian Opera may be traced to his reigri. Killigrew, who had resided some time at • I believe it is scarce necessary to notice, that Tea, Coffee, and Chocolate were all introduced into England in the reign of Charles the Second ;—the first from Holland, the second from France, and the last from Portugal, by the Queen and her Portuguese attendants, t But—he neglected Purcell and rewarded Grabut! 16 INTRODUCTION. Veniccj brought over a company of Italian singers, who sang in dialogue and recitative, with accompaniments, and excited great admiration at court. A young Italian, named Francesco Corbetta,* whose performance on the guitar was much admired and patronised by the King, first made that elegant instrument fashionable in England; and it became such a mania, that, either for show or use, it was as indispensable upon a lady’s toilette, as her rouge and patch box. A beau of that time was little thought of, who could not write a song on his mistress, and sing it himself to his guitar. Lord Arran, a younger son of the great Duke of Ormond, was tha most admired amateur performer at court; and his beautiful sister. Lady Chester¬ field, gloried in possessing the finest guitar in England: but it sounded discord in the ears of her jealous lord, according to the story in De Grammont. The following passage in Pepys’ Diary is characteristic of the time: he went to pay a visit of business to Lord Sandwich, on board the Royal James; “ and there spent an hour, my lord playing on the gittarr, which he now commends above all musique in the world.” Lord Sandwich was a distinguished and veteran commander, admiral of the fleet, and at this time a grandfather, or old enough to be one. Painting was neglected in this reign, except as far as it flattered, and was subservient to personal vanity. Accordingly we do not find the name of a single good Painter of History; while Portrait Painters abounded. Those who were chiefly employed by the court, during the reign of Charles the Second, were Sir Peter Lely, Huysman, Wissing, and Sir Godfrey Kneller. Sir Peter Lely was a native of Soest in Westphalia, where his father, a captain of horse, was then in garrison. After studying some time under an obscure painter of the name of Grebber, he came to England in 1641. Though he painted Charles the First, a short time before his downfall,! and Cromwell more than once, it does not appear that Lely enjoyed much celebrity till after the Restoration. The gay cavaliers and beautiful women of Charles the Second’s court, were better suited to his taste, and more appro¬ priate subjects for his delicate and graceful pencil, than the stiff figures • There is a print of him by Gascar with this inscription :— “ Francesco Corbetta Famosissimo maestro di Chitarra Qual Orfeo nel suonar ognun U narra.” t This remarkable picture is now at Sion House. INTRODUCTION. 17 and stern puritanical visages of the Commonwealth. The first Duchess of York, Anne Hyde, though a fine woman, was not remarkable for her personal attractions: she was, however, content to gratify the taste of the King and her husband in this particular; and, in forming her court, after the acknowledgement of her marriage, took pains to surround herself with all that was most brilliant and fascinating in youth and Beauty; Miss Jennings,* Miss Temple,■f' and Miss Hamilton, were among the most conspicuous orna¬ ments of her court. She began the collection now known as the “ Beauties of Windsor,” by commanding Sir Peter Lely to paint for her the handsomest women of the time, commencing with her own lovely Maids of Honour. The success with which he executed this charming task, raised him at once to reputation and to fortune. Every woman was emulous to have her charms immortalised by his beauty-breathing pencil; and lovers and poets were, for the first time, gratified by beholding their mistresses on Lely’s canvass, scarce less enchanting than they existed in their own imaginations. Lely has been severely criticised as an abandoned mannerist; and, it must be confessed, that the languid air, the sleepy elongated eyelids, and loose fluttering draperies of his women, have given a general character to his pictures, which may be detected almost at the first glance. “ Lely’s nymphs,” says Walpole, “ are far too wanton and magnificent, to be taken for any thing but Maids of Honour.” In another place he says, “ Sir Peter Lely’s women trail fringes and embroidery through meadows and purling streams.” This is surely hyper-criticism; and, in fact, through the whole of his observations, Walpole seems determined to undervalue Lely in com¬ parison with Kneller. The clinquant of which he accuses him, and justly, was equally the characteristic of the latter painter; and, in Lely, is re¬ deemed by a brilliance of colouring, and a thousand graces in style and compo¬ sition, which Kneller never equalled, except in one or two of his very best productions. Neither, it is true, can be compared to the great classic painters; but some of Lely’s heads are exquisite in tone of colour and ex¬ pression : his airy, graceful, and floating draperies, certainly bear no traces of having been trailed through purling streams: and what true judge or real 'lover of painting, could wish away those charming snatches of woodland landscape, those magical glimpses of sky and masses of foliage, with which he has so beautifully—so poetically relieved his female figures; or choose to substitute for these rich effects of scenery, the straight lines of architecture, • Afterwards Duchess of Tyrconnel. t Afterwards Lady Lyttelton. 18 INTRODUCTION. or the folds of a curtain? Why may not a lovely woman be represented, without any intolerable violation of taste or probability, in a garden or a bower, as well as in a saloon at Whitehall ?—or seated beneath a tree, or beside a fountain, as well as before a piece of red drapery ? In other respects, there can be no doubt that the manner of the Painter, was in a great measure caught from the prevailing manners, fashions, and character of the times in which he lived. He painted what he saw, and if he made his nymphs “ wanton and magnificent,” we have very good authority for believing in the accuracy of his likenesses. The loose undress in which many of his female portraits are arrayed, or rather disarrayed, came into fashion as modesty went out, and virtue was voted “ une impertinence.” The soft sleepy eye— “ Seeming- to shun the rudeness of men’s sight. And sliedding a delicious lunar light,” appears to have been natural to one or two distinguished beauties of the time, who led the fashion, and carried to an extreme by others, who wished to be in the mode. We are told that the lovely Mrs. Hyde,* had, by long practice, subdued her glances to such a languishing tenderness, that her eyes never opened more than those of a Chinese. We may imagine the fair and indolent Middleton, the languishing Miss Boynton, or the insipid Miss Blague, “ aux blondes paupieres,” with these drooping lids and half-shut glances; but it must have cost the imperious Caatlemaine, the brilliant Jennings, and the sprightly Hamilton, no small effort to veil their sparkling orbs in compliance with the fashion, and affect an insidious leer or a drowsy langour. With them it must have been an exquisite refinement of coquetterie, a kind of demi jour, giving to the raised lid and full soul¬ beaming eye, an effect like that of unexpected light—dazzling, surprising, overpowering. ^ Sir Peter Lely painted some History pieces, which have the same merits and defects as his portraits; the defects, howeveiq predominate: he also drew finely in crayons : some exquisite pieces of his, in this style, are still extant. He was knighted by Charles the Second: and, like his predecessor Vandyke, married a beautiful English woman of high family: like him too he was remarkable for his graceful and courtier-like manners, for the splendour of his house and equipage, and for keeping a sumptuous table. He spent thirty-nine years in England, and during twenty he was confessedly at the * Theodosia Capel, afterwards Lady Clarendon. INTRODUCTION. 19 head of his profession. He died suddenly in 1680, while painting that beautiful Duchess of Somerset, whose Portrait is in this collection. Wissing was a Dutch Painter, who came over to England after having obtained some celebrity at the French court: he was much patronised during the short time he was here, and painted most of the royal family. The portraits of Lady Ossory and Mrs. Nott, in this collection, are by Wissing: he was especially in fashion among the ladies, for he was sure to catch the best and most advantageous expression of every face. If it happened that one of his lovely models grew pale, and looked fatigued during a long sitting, he would take her by the hand and dance her about the room, to restore bloom to her complexion and spirit to her countenance: it was a specific which never failed. Wissing died young at Lord Exeter’s seat at Burleigh. He has been celebrated by Prior. James Huysman, or Houseman, was a native of Antwerp, who came over to England when Lely was in the zenith of his reputation; and had nearly rivalled him: and not without reason. Huysman had studied in the school of Rubens, and formed his taste and style after the model of Vandyke. Some of his Pictures, which I have seen, have something of the power and freedom of the latter painter, blended with the sweetness and grace of Lely. His beautiful portrait of the Duchess of Richmond, (Miss Stewart) as a young cavalier, is at Kensington. Whether the fine picture, which hangs over the door in the Beauty Room at Windsor, be the work of Huysman or Vandyke,—-whether it represent a Lady Bellasys, or a Lady Byron, are points which will be discussed and settled in their proper place. Huysman constituted himself the Queen’s Painter, and made her sit for all his Madonnas and Venuses. He might have chosen a better model, and a more munificent patroness: Catharine had no predilection for the fine arts. Huysman died in 1696: his death left Kneller without a rival. Sir Godfrey Kneller was by birth a Saxon. His first success in England is connected with a very characteristic anecdote. He came to this country in 1674, without any intention of residing here, having resolved to settle at Venice, where he had already received great encouragement. Soon after his arrival, he painted the Duke of Monmouth for Secretary Vernon, and the Duke was so charmed by the resemblance that he engaged the King, his father, to sit to the new painter. At this time Charles had pro- 20 INTRODUCTION. mised the Duke of York his Portrait by Lely; and disliking the trouble of sitting, he proposed that both the artists should paint him at the same time. Sir Peter was to choose the light and point of view he thought most advan¬ tageous ; the stranger was to take the likeness as he could: he performed his task with so much expedition, that he had nearly finished his head of the King, when Lely had only just begun his. Charles was pleased; Lely generously owned the abilities of his competitor, and the justice of the resemblance; and this first success induced Kneller to settle finally in England. After the death of Sir Peter Lely, in 1780, he became the court and fashionable Painter; and was for nearly fifty years without a com¬ petitor ; during which time, he painted all the distinguished characters of the age, both English and foreign. William the Third knighted him, George the First made him a baronet, and Leopold created him a knight of the Roman Empire. Ten Sovereigns sat to him; but we owe him a far deeper debt of gratitude for the likenesses of Dryden, Pope, Newton, Locke, Addison, Congreve, and Wortley Montague, which his pencil has transmitted to us. The well-known “ Beauties” at Hampton Court, were painted by Sir Godfrey Kneller for William the Third. As Paintings, they are decidedly inferior to the Windsor Beauties ; and, with due deference to the virtues of the ladies they represent, are as subjects not to be compared in interest and beauty, to their naughty Mammas and Grandmammas of Charles the Second’s time. There is a chalkiness in the flesh, and a general rawness in the tints, which will not bear a comparison with the delicacy of Lely’s carnations, and the splendour of colouring in his landscapes and draperies: and they have all a look of studied stiffness and propriety, which, as it is obviously affected, is almost as bad as the voluptuous negligence of Lely’s females. Kneller’s powers as a wit, almost equalled his talents as a Painter ; and his vanity appears to have exceeded both. Pope, who was his personal friend, and who has given him in his verses a surer immortality than the pencil ever conferred, has left us a characteristic anecdote of him: it is thus related in Spence—“ I (it is Pope who speaks) was sitting one day by Sir Godfrey Kneller, whilst he was drawing a Picture; he stopped and said, ‘ I can’t do so well as I should do, unless you flatter me a little; pray flatter me Mr. Pope, you know I love to be flattered! ’ I was for once willing to try how far his vanity would carry him; and, after considering a Picture he had just finished for a good while very attentively, I said to him in INTRODUCTION. 21 French—(for we had heen talking for some time before in that language,)— ‘ On lit dans les Ecritures Saintes, que le Bon Dieu faisait 1’ homme apres son image; mais, je crois, s’il voudrait faire un autre a present, qu’il le ferait apres I’image que voila.’ Sir Godfrej^ turned round, and said very gravely, ‘ Vous avez raison. Monsieur Pope, par Dieu, je le crois aussi.’ ” The gross folly and profaneness of this answer, seem inconsistent with the wit Sir Godfrey really possessed: possibly he was playing off the Poet’s trick upon himself, and the reply was only ironical; for he seems from the first part of the story to have been quite aware of his own foible. His answer to his tailor was in better taste: the man had proposed his son to him as an apprentice, and begged he would make him a painter: “ dost thou think man,” exclaimed Sir Godfrey in a rage, “ that 1 can make thy son a painter ? No, only God Almighty makes painters ! ” * Sir Godfrey Kneller died in 1723, and left £300. to erect a monument to himself in Westminster Abbey, which was executed by Rysbrach.f Pope said the epitaph he composed for this monument, was the worst thing he ever wrote, and he was not far mistaken. The thought in the concluding lines. Living, great Nature feared he might outvie Her works, and dying, fears herself may die. is borrowed from Cardinal Bembo’s epitaph on Raphael, in the Pantheon at Rome: hut the hyperbole does not sound so ill in Latin, as in plain homely English; and is, besides, most clumsily translated. It may be added, that a compliment which, paid to the divinest of painters, was only a poetical licence, has become burlesque and absurd, when applied to one so immea¬ surably his inferior. One would almost think, that the vanity which Pope had flattered and ridiculed when living, he meant to stigmatize on the tomb, by praise at once so affected and poor in its expression, so exag¬ gerated and misapplied in its meaning. • Walpole. t •“ I paid Sir Godfrey Kneller a visit but two days before he died, and I think J never saw a scene of such vanity in all my life : he was lying in his bed, and contemplating the plan he had made for his own monument: he said many gross things in relation to himself, and the memory he should leave behind him; he said he should not like to lie among the rascaU in Westminster: a memorial there would be sufficient, and desired me to write an epitaph for it. 1 did so afterwards 5 and 1 think it is the worst thing I ever wrote.”— Pope—in Spence, D 22 INTRODUCTION. It will not be out of place here to continue tins slight sketch of Portrait Painting and Portrait Painters, as connected with Female Beauty and the Encrlish Court, down to our own time. Jervas succeeded Sir Godfrey Kneller as Court Painter. In spite of the poetical flattery of Pope,* who embalmed his name in the “ Lucid amber of his lines,” and his immense reputation when living, Jervas is now almost forgotten as a Painter. His Portraits being without intrinsic merit as paintings, without even the value which just likeness could give them, have long ago been banished into garrets and housekeepers’ rooms, or turned with their faces to the wall, or exiled into brokers’ shops, to be sold for the value of their frames. Jervas had formed his taste on two of the worst models a Painter could select. Carlo Maratti and Sir Godfrey Kneller: he contrived to exaggerate the faults of both, without possessing any of their merits; and while his success equalled that of the former, his vanity even exceeded the conceit of the latter.f At this time also lived Dahl, a Swede by birth, who came over to Eng¬ land, about the time of the Revolution. He was a Portrait Painter of consi¬ derable merit; and patronised by William the Third, for whom he painted the Gallery of Admirals at Hampton Court. He appears, however, to have painted few female Portraits ; the La,dies being engrossed by Kneller and Jervas. The reigns of George the First and Second, present not one name of eminence in Portrait Painting : the arts had sunk to the lowest possible ebb; and the absurd and ungraceful fashions, which prevailed in dress and manners at this time, are perpetuated in the stilf, homely, insipid Portraits of Richardson and Hudson. “ Kneller,” as Walpole pleasantly observes, “ bad exaggerated the curls of full bottomed wigs, and the tiaras of • Pope spared not to flatter his friend in prose as well as in verse. In one of his letters to him, he writes, “ Every body here has great need of you ; many faces have died for want of your pencil; and blooming ladies have withered in expecting your return.” In another, he says, “ I long to see you a History Painter: you have already done enough for the private, do something for the public, &c.” Jervas would have made a rare History painter !—so much is there in a fashion and a name, it could dazzle even Pope. t Jervas was supposed to have indulged a presumptuous passion for Lady Bridgewater, the loveliest of the four lovely daughters of the great Marlborough. Hence the frequent introduction of her name into Pope’s Epistle to Jervas, and the exquisite character he has drawp of her: he calls her, in one place, “ thy Bridgewater.” INTRODUCTION. 23 ribands, lace, and hair, till he had struck out a graceful kind of unnatural grandeur.” Not so his immediate successors: they, destitute of taste or imagination, have either left us hideous and literal transcripts of the awk¬ ward, tight-laced, be-hooped, and be-wigged generation of Belles and Beaux before them; or quitting at once all nature, grace, probability, and even possibility, have given us Arcadian Sheperdesses, and Heathen Goddesses, and soi-disant Greeks and Romans, where wigs and flounces and frippery, mingle with crooks, sheep, thunderbolts, and Roman draperies: but it is out of the last abasement of hopeless mediocrity, that original genius most frequently rises and soars; where there is nothing to imitate, nothing to rest upon, a reaction takes place: and while Hudson was painting insipid faces, in powdered side-curls and white sattin waistcoats—the genius of Gainsborough and Sir Joshua Reynolds was preparing a new era in the history of art. Gainsborough, is chiefly celebrated as a Landscape Painter; yet what truth of character, what vigour of touch, what free unmannered simplicity of style in some of his portraits!—his Blue Boy at Grosvenor House, for instance, equal to any thing of Sir Joshua’s! But the bland and graceful pencil of the latter, was calculated to please more generally; and he was soon without a competitor. If Court patronage make the Court Painter, Sir Joshua has little claim to the title: it was impossible to owe less than he did to Royal favour: but, if the presence of high-born loveliness in attendance upon Majesty, constitute a Court, he whose pencil has immortalised two generations of English Beauties, may well be styled the Court Painter of England. Among his pupils and successors, Hoppner imitated him, and caught something of his style and feeling: Sir Thomas Lawrence has not imitated him, and has inherited his genius and his fame. It is therefore easier to contrast, than to compare them. Thus, the ex¬ cellencies of Sir Joshua Reynolds are more allied to the Venetian school; those of Sir Thomas Lawrence to the Flemish school. Sir Joshua reminds us more of Giorgione and Titian, Sir Thomas, of Vandyke and Lely. Both are graceful; but the grace of Sir Joshua Reynolds is more poetical; that of Sir Thomas Lawrence more spirituel: there is more of fancy and feeling in Sir Joshua; more of high bred elegance in Sir Thomas Lawrence. The first in the sweeter colourist, the latter the more vigourous draughts¬ man. In the Portraits of Sir Joshua there is ever a predominance of sentiment, in those of Sir Thomas a predominance of spirit. The pencil of the latter would instinctively illuminate with animation the most pensive face; and the genius of the former would throw a shade of tenderness into the 24 INTRODUCTION. countenance of a virago. Between both, what an enchanting gallery might be formed of the Beauties of George the Third’s reign—the Beauties who have been presented at St. James’s during the last half century! Or, to go no further back than those painted by Lawrence, since he has been confessedly the Court Painter of England—if the aerial loveliness of Lady Leicester— the splendid beauty of Mrs. Littleton—the poetical sweetness of Lady Walscourt with “ mind and music breathing from her face”—the patrician grace of Lady Lansdown—the pensive elegance of Mrs. Wolfe;—the more brilliant and intellectual graces of Lady Jersey,—Mrs. Hope, with eyes that anticipate a smile, and lips round which the last bon-mot seems to linger still,—the Duchess of Devonshire, the Lady Elizabeth For¬ ster, Miss Thayer, Lady Blessington, Lady Charlotte Campbell, Mrs. Ar- buthnot, &c.—if these, and a hundred other fair “ stars,” who each in their turn have blazed away a season on the walls of the academy, “ the cynosure of neighbouring eyes,” and then set for ever to the public ; — if these could be taken from their scattered stations over pianos and chimney-pieces, and assembled together for one Spring in the British Gallery, an exhibition more interesting, more attractive, more dazzlingly beautiful can scarcely be imagined; but if the pride of some, and the modesty of others would militate against such an arrangement, we know nothing that could prevent the Directors of the British Institution from gratifying the public with a regular and chronological series of British Historical Portraits; beginning with the age of Henry VIII. and Eliza¬ beth, as illustrated by Hans Holbein, Antonio More, Oliver, &c., and bringing them down to the conclusion of the last century. The Royal Palaces, Knowle, Burleigh, Blenheim, Dunham, Hinchingbroke, Tabley, Castle-Howard, &c. contain treasures in this department, which the noble Proprietors would pi’oudly contribute: and such a collection or selection of “ gorgeous dames and statesmen old,” would not only comprise many curiosities and chef-d’oeuvres of Art, but form a most interesting and instructive commentary on the Biography and History of our country. The only substitute for such an exhibition is a Gallery of Engraved Portraits. This brings us back at last to the peculiar subject of this work, “ The Beauties of Charles’s Days,” and the Queen leads the way, by right of etiquette and courtesy, if not by “ right divine” of Beauty. t .. v* r/A. . ^V .V \ \ k*' •■■ - ia^'< •' ’r *-'^^i*. r " / -/* * j. *•' tf'' ^ * ' ' ■ . ' V-'" -wi^- ' ^’••' ^ '•*« f'V- - / ^ 'i '‘\-K"l J *•<.,■ wv > - - . ^y.\-. -■■•;'•; ..., ., y ■ . ■ 4.: ' ?■./ r-V .- : '<■ - It ' V •. - “'i >. • t ■ V * *v •> r:- , * >. - :f i a > I QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. Qoeen Katherine. —Bring me a constant woman to her husband ; One that ne’er dreamed a joy beyond his pleasure ; And to that woman, when she has done most, Yet will I add an honour—a great patience. King Henry. Go thy ways Kate. That man i’ the world that shall report he has A better wife, let him in nought be trusted For speaking false in this. Catherine of Braganza was the only daughter of that celebrated Duke of Braganza, who, by one of the most bloodless and most patriotic re¬ volutions ever recorded, was placed upon the Throne of Portugal in 1641, with the title of Don Juan the Fourth. Her mother Louisa de Guzman, a daughter of the Duke of Medina Sidonia, was a woman of great beauty and spirit. On the death of her husband in 1656, she was left Regent of the kingdom; and during the minority of her weak and worthless son, she maintained the national independence against Spain with equal ability and success. Catherine, the eldest of her children, was born just before the Duke of Braganza’s elevation to the Throne. She was brought up, according to the custom of her age and country, within the strict bounds of a convent: her society confined to her Confessor, and a few simple-minded, fanatic Nuns; her reading, to her Breviary and the Lives of the Saints. Such was the society and such the education from which she was called at the age of three and twenty to share the throne of England, and rule the most licentious Court in Europe: a Court in which her ignorance and innocence rendered her 26 QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. ridiculous, her religious bigotry contemptible, and her high spirit and fresh and unworn affections only made her feel more acutely the mortifications to which she was hourly exposed, both as a Queen and as a Woman. The first overtures for the marriage of Charles with the Infanta of Portugal were made by the Portuguese Ambassador, Don Francisco de Melo, in 1661, through the medium of the Earl of Manchester, then Lord Chamberlain. It was at first privately represented to the King that “ it was time for his Majesty to think of marriage, from which he had “ hitherto been withheld by the extreme difficulty of finding, among the “ issue of the Royal Houses of Europe, a consort in all respects suited “to him:* that there was in Portugal a Princess, whose youth, beauty, “ and large portion, rendered her a desirable match for the King of Eng- “ land: she was, indeed, a Catholic, and would never forsake the Religion “ in which she had been bred up, but she was without any meddling activity “ of mind, and had been educated by her mother, the Queen Regent, “ in total ignorance of politics and business; and being of a gentle and “ submissive disposition, would be satisfied with the undisturbed exercise “ of her own Religion, without concerning herself with that of others.” Finding these representations graciously received, the Ambassador pro¬ ceeded, still with the utmost secrecy, to explain the offer he was authorised to make. Portugal was to pay down in ready money five hundred thousand pounds sterling, as the marriage portion of the Infanta; and to assign over to the Crown of England the fortress of Tangier, on the African coast, and the island of Bombay in the East Indies, with full liberty to the English of trading to the Brazils. To the profuse and needy Charles the offer of half a million of money placed at his sole disposal was a tempting consi¬ deration : the Religion of the Infanta was no objection to him, and he hoped that the advantageous conditions annexed to the Treaty would render it palateable to his, people. Whpn it was laid before the Council, Clarendpn, whose influence was * The King, guided by his mother, had early resolved not to marry a Protestant. When the matter was debated by the Privy Council, and some of his best friends strongly advised him to unite himself with a Protestant Princess, he asked petulantly where there was a Protestant for him to marry ? Several of the German Princesses were mentioned—" Odds-fish !” says the King impatieptly, " they are all foggy ; I cannot like any one of them for a Wife ! ”— Carte’s Lifenf Ormonde, QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 21 then at its height, eagerly supported the measure; partly from a conviction of its political utility, partly to prevent the suspicion that he had been privy to the marriage of his Daughter* with the Duke of York, in the hope of her offspring succeeding to the crown: perhaps, also, he thought to make the young Queen his friend, in opposition to the Mistresses and profligate Courtiers, whom his natural timidity of disposition made him fear, but whom the inborn integrity of his character would not allow him to court. Supported by his credit, and the evident wishes of the King, the Treaty met with no opposition from the Council. The Portuguese Ambassador returned to his country to make known the favourable sentiments of the King, and to bring back full powers for the ratification of the treaty: he carried with him also a letter from Charles to the Infanta, written with his Majesty’s own hand, in which he addressed her as his Wife. Even when matters had gone thus far, and the King’s honour was in some degree pledged, the Treaty was nearly broken off by the intrigues of the Earl of Bristol who was devoted to the Spanish interest, then in direct opposition to that of Portugal. Bristol,'!' the most crack-brained of political profligates, whose inconsistency made him a bye-word and a mockery, had rendered himself pleasmg to the King by his convivial qualities, which were unrestrained by principle or decency, and obtained a strong influence over him by being privy to some important state secrets.J He now employed all that influence to break off the intended marriage, and was zealously supported by the Ambassa,dor of Spain, (Don Louis de Haro) a man of high passions, and more than Spanish pride. Portugal, they in¬ sisted, was then in such a state of poverty, that all her finances were inade¬ quate to pay the promised Portion: Spain was collecting all her power to crush the family of Braganza; who, unable to cope with the immense expedition arrayed against them, would have no other resource than “ that of tran¬ sporting themselves and all their adherents to Brazil and the Ambassador added, with characteristic audacity, that “ really he had too high an opinion of his Majesty’s good sense to believe that he would incur the resentment of Spain, by allying himself with a family and a nation of rebels.” • Anne Hyde. t George Digby. See more of him in the Memoir of Lady Simderland. J It is said that he was one of the witnesses to the King’s formal Abjuration of the Protestant Religion. J It is a curious coincidence, that the expedient here anticipated should have been actually resorted to within our own memory. 28 QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. The Earl of Bristol, who knew the King’s ruling foible, drew a most odious picture of the Infanta’s person, and asserted her incapacity of becoming a mother: he then reverted to the charms and accomplishments of the Italian women. His Majesty, he said, had only to take his choice among the Princesses of Italy; and the King of Spain would adopt her, and dower her as a daughter of Spain. These artful suggestions had their effect upon the versatile and suscep¬ tible mind of Charles. He began to cool upon his intended marriage ; and, at length, to view it even with a degree of disgust. When the Portuguese Ambassador retuimed from Lisbon, the changes which had taken place during his short absence, and his cold reception at Court, so astonished and affected him, that being “ something of a hypochondriac,” he took to his bed and felt or feigned sickness.* But, just at this crisis, fortunately (or should we not rather say, unfortunately ?) for Catherine, the levity of Bristol, and the unexampled audacity of the Spanish Ambassador, defeated the effect of all their past intrigues. The latter behaved with such rash insolence, that the King, with a spirit he seldom asserted on such occasions, commanded him to depart the kingdom instantly, without seeing his face again; and sent the Secretary of State to inform him “ that a complaint of his conduct would be made to the King, his master, from whom his Majesty would expect that justice should be done upon him.-” The Ambassador, full of alarm and resentment, withdrew from Court, and quitted the country in a few days. The Chancellor and others of the Council, seized this moment to repre¬ sent to Charles, that his honour w'as too far pledged to retreat. A private intimation was delivered from the French government, through the Envoy Bastide, that the King could not bestow himself better in marriage than with the Infanta of Portugal, who was styled in courtly phi’ase, “ a Lady of great beauty and admirable endowmentsoffering assistance in money in case of a rupture with Spain. The King’s wavering resolution was at length fixed by a sight of a miniature of the Infanta, which the Portu¬ guese Ambassador had brought with him. It represented a young person, not indeed strikingly or regularly beautiful, but whose delicate features* Soft expression, clear olive complexion, and fine dark eyes, were at least • Clarendon’s Life. QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA, 29 attractive. The King gazing on it with complacency declared, “ that person could not be unhandsome,” and with little more deliberation, the famous treaty was concluded, which has bound England and Portugal in strict alliance ever since. The Earl of Sandwich was immediately dispatched with a fleet to take possession of Tangier, and bring home the new Queen. Her em¬ barkation and arrival in England were attended by some curious circum¬ stances, which influenced her future life. The portion of 500,000/. which the Queen-mother had with difficulty provided, by selling her jewels and much of her plate, and borrowing the jewels and plate of, several h urches and monasteries, had been employed on some sudden emergency in fitting out forces against Spain, and was not forthcoming. The Queen- mother made the best apology she could for a step to which she had been driven by the cruel necessity of her situation : she proposed to put on board the fleet, the amount of one-half of the portion in jewels, sugar, cotton, silk, and other commodities, and pledged herself to the payment of the other half within a year. Lord Sandwich was much embarrassed; but found it necessary to acquiesce, having no instructions provided against such a dilemma: and the King, who expected the arrival of half a million in gold, with at least as much impatience as that of his bride, was equally enraged and disappointed at the non-payment. Even Catherine herself was made to feel the effects of his ill humour on this occasion. The other circumstance above alluded to, was more important in its effects.—Though Catherine assumed state in Portugal, and held a Court as Queen of England, she was suffered to embark without the performance of any of the rites of marriage, or any of the ceremonies usual among crowned heads on such occasions. The cause of this extraordinary, and even unparalleled proceeding was this :—the power of Spain at the Court of Rome was so pre¬ dominant, that the title of the Braganza family to the throne of Portugal had never yet been acknowledged there. Without a dispensation from the Pope, the Infanta could not be married to a heretic in her own country, and the papal dispensation, if granted at all, would have styled her simply the daughter and sister to a Duke of Braganza. Rather than submit to this apprehended insult, her proud and jealous relatives chose to trust unreservedly in the E 30 QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. honour of England.* The fleet, with the Princess and her retinue, sailed from Lisbon the 13th of April, and arrived at Portsmouth the 14th of May. But, though suffering severely from the effects of her voyage, Catherine remained on board till the 20th, from a point of etiquette which did not allow her to land, or be seen by any but her women, till met by the King, who was detained in London. Immediately on his arrival, the marriage cere¬ mony was performed according to the Romish rite, by the Lord Aubigny,f Almoner to the Queen, in the presence of the Portuguese Ambassador, and two or three of her women. They were afterwards married according to the Protestant Church, by Dr. Sheldon, Bishop of London: but, on this occa¬ sion, Catherine, as simple-minded as bigotted, refused to repeat the words of the Ritual, turned away her head poutingly, and would not even look the Bishop in the face. She insisted, however, on his solemnly pronouncing her the wife of the King before be quitted her chamber. ^ This hasty and imperfect marriage was, subsequently, the occasion of much scandal, and tended to embitter the after life of Catherine. Many affected to regard it as a mere contract, not binding upon the King ; and even to found on it, additional I’easons for the divorce, which, in 1669, was seriously agitated; and would probably have been carried into effect upon slighter grounds, if Charles had resembled his bluff ancestor Harry the Eighth. It does not appear that the King was disappointed in the person of his young Queen in a letter to Lord Clarendon, dated from Portsmouth, he expresses his satisfaction in strong terms :§ and Clarendon says, “it is * Secret History, Vol. i. In the Stuart Papers it is said, that Catherine “ would not be married by a Protestant Proxy was she then in the secret that her husband was a Catholic 1 t Brother to the Duke of Richmond. J “ The Queen is brought a few days since to Hampton Court, and all people do say of her to be a very fine and handsome Lady, and very discreet, and that the King is pleased enough with her, which, I fear, will put Madam Castlemaine’s nose out of joynt.”— Pepys’ Diary. 5 “ Portsmouth, 21 May, 8 in the Morning. “ I arrived here yesterday, about two in the afternoon, and as soon as I had shifted myself, I went to my wife’s chamber ******, Her face is not so exact as to be called a beauty, though her eyes are excellent good, and not any thing in her face, that in the least degree can shock one. On the contrary, she has as much agreeableness in her looks altogether, as ever I saw ; and, if I have any skill in physiognomy, which 1 think I have, she must be as good a woman as ever was bom. Her QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 31 certain she had wit and beauty enough to have pleased the King, if bigotry and an ill education had not spoiled her.” Pepys, describing her in his Diary, says, “ For the Queen, though she be not a very charming, yet hath she a good, modest and innocent look, which is most pleasing.” Catherine’s defects seem to have been those of manner, rather than person; her disposition was not sprightly, nor her deportment dignified. It would be unjust to attribute the moody pettishness and melancholy, which she betrayed £Oon after her marriage, to a natural gloominess of disposition; for it only proved, that she was not absolutely insensible. Charles, whose powers of captivation few women could withstand, had, in the commence¬ ment of their intercourse, won her whole affections; and she could not see herself neglected by her husband, and brow-beat by insolent rivals, without the discontent and anger natural to a fond, jealous, and high spirited woman. I When Catherine first arrived in England, she was dressed after the antiquated fashion of Portugal, in a high boddice, ruff, and farthingale, which excited some insolent merriment in her new Court, and which the King obliged her to alter.* She had brought with her from Lisbon a bevy of Portuguese attendants, of whom De Grammont has left us a ludi¬ crous description. Six “ Monsters,” alias Maids of Honour, ruffed and farthingaled like their Mistress, surrounded her person: they were governed by an old Duenna, (or Guarda Damas,) more hideous than all her damsels, as stiff as pride and buckram could make her, with, we may suppose, double solemnity of ruff, and treble expansion of farthingale. Besides these, Catherine had in her retinue six Almoners, a Confessor, a Jewish conversation, as much as 1 can perceive, is very good; for she has wit enough, and a most agreeable voice. You would much wonder to see how well we are acquainted already. In a word, I think myself very happy; but, I am confident our two humours will agree very well together, I have not time to say any more. My Lord Lieutenant will give you an account of the rest.” * There is a fine Print of the Queen in her Portuguese costume by Faithorne ; in which her hair is dressed out like a full bottomed wig. Catherine was very reluctant to change her style of dress ; her Portuguese attendants had endeavoured to persuade her that she should neither learn the English language, nor use their habit; which they told her would be for the dignity of Portugal, and would quickly induce the English Ladies to conform to her Majesty’s practice. The result, however, was just the reverse. Evelyn speaks of the excessive ugliness and “ monstrous fardingals” of the Portu¬ guese women: and Pepys (who was very sensitive to personal appearance) seems to have been horrified both by their hideous selves and dresses. 32 QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. Perfumer, and an officer, whose function seems to have puzzled the wliole Court, entitled the “ Queen’s Barber.” These foreigners by their igno¬ rance, bigotry, and officiousness, caused as much confusion as the French attendants of her Predecessor Henrietta Maria; and Charles soon followed the example of his father, by shipping the whole cargo back td their own country, and surrounded the Queen with creatures of his owm.* In the list of her new attendants laid before Catherine for her approbation, Charles had the effrontery to include Lady Castlemaine, his acknowledged Mistress. Catherine instantly drew her pen across the name, and when the King insisted, she replied haughtily “ that she would return to her own country, rather than be forced to submit to such an indignity.” Her spirit however availed her little: Charles, spurred on by the female Fury who governed him, was steady to his cruel purpose. On one particular occasion, when the Queen held what we should now call a Drawing-room, at Hampton Court, Lady Castlemaine was introduced in form by the King. Catherine, who did not know her, and heard the name imperfectly, received her with as much grace and benignity as the rest:—but in the next moment, recol¬ lecting herself, and aware of the public insult which had been offered to her, all her passions were roused : she started from her chair, turned as pale as ashes; then red with shame and anger; the blood gushed from her nose, and she swooned in the arms of her women. The Court was imme¬ diately broken up: but Charles, though probably touched with some com¬ punction, had been persuaded by some of the profligates about his person, that the Queen wished to govern him, that his dignity and authority would be compromised if he gave up the point; and fancied he was imitating his model, Louis Quatorze, by forcing his Queen to acquiesce in her own dis¬ honour. Lord Clarendon, during this degrading contest between the wife and the mistress, had vainly opposed the King’s intention; and at length in disgust absented himself from Court: upon which the King wrote to him a letter, of which the following is an extract: — “ I wish 1 may be unhappy in this world and in the world to come, if I fail in the least degree of “ wdiat I have resolved, which is of making my Lady Castlemaine of my wife’s bed-chamber; and “ whosoever I find use any endeavours to hinder this resolution of mine, except it be only to myself. • the Countess of Penalva, “ by reason of the Queen’s tender attachment to her, and her own infirmities, was sufifered to remain on the Queen’s earnest entreaty, that she might not be left wholly in the hands of strangers.”—See Clarendon. QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 33 " I will be his enemy to the last moment of my life. You know how true a friend I have been to “ you. If you will oblige me eternally, make this business as easy to me as you can, what opinion “ soever you are of; for I am resolved to go through this matter, let what will come on it, which again I swear before Almighty God : therefore, if you desire to have the continuance of my friendship, " meddle no more with this business, except it be to beat down all false and scandalous reports, and to “ facilitate what I am sure my honour is so much concerned in ; and whosoever I find to be my Lady “ Castlemaine’s enemy in the matter, I do promise upon my word to be his enemy as long as I live.” Whatever may be thought of the style and reasoning of this notable epistle, it had its effect. Lord Clarendon labours to excuse the part he took in this wretched business, of which he has given us a very particular account; but it must be allowed, that it ill became the gravity of his place and character, to stoop to be the King’s instrument on such an occasion. He allows that after having represented to Chaides “ the hard-heartedness “ and cruelty of laying such a command upon the Queen, which flesh and “ blood could not comply with and reminded him of the difference, in this respect, between the French and the English Courts ; “ that in the “former such connexions were not new and scandalous; whereas in Eng- “ land they were so unheard of, and so odious, that the Mistress of the “ King was infamous to all Women of Honour:”* he yet undertook to per¬ suade the Queen to bear this indignity, which was “ more than flesh and blood could comply withand to receive into her society,—nay, into an office of honour and trust about her person, a female held “ infamous by all Women of honour;” and whom he never would suffer his own wife to visit. When the Chancellor first addressed himself to the Queen upon this delicate subject, she broke out into such a passion of grief and indignation, that he was obliged to quit her. The next day she asked his pardon for “ giving vent to the passion that was ready to break her heartand desired his advice, and to hear the truth with all freedom. He began by excusing the King: he told her “ he doubted she was little beholden to her educa- “ tion, that had given her no better information of the follies and iniquities “ of mankind, of which he presumed the climate whence she came could “ have given her more instances, than this cold region would afford, (though “ at that time it was indeed very hot:) and if her Majesty had been • Charles the First and James the First were models of conjugal fidelity j and Henry the Eighth never thought of any other resource in his amours, but the desperate one of divorcing, or cutting-off the head of one Queen, to marry another. 34 QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. “ fairly dealt with in that particular, she could neveT have thought herself so “ miserable, and her condition so insupportable, as she seemed to think: the ground of which heavy complaint he could not comprehend.” The poor Queen, with many blushes and tears, acknowledged that “ she did not think she should have found the King’s affections engaged to another ladyand then she stopped abruptly, unable from the excess of her emotion to say more. The Chancellor continued the conference with true diplomatic art; paid her some compliments, and assured her, that if she made use of her own powers of charming, she need fear no rivals ; he ventured to ask her, “ whether if it should please God to give a Queen to Portugal, she would find that Court so full of chaste affections,” and this allusion to the notorious gallantry of her brother Alphonso, made the Queen smile. But, when he touched upon the hated point of contention, and named Lady Castlemaine, it called forth all the rage and fury of yes¬ terday, with “ fewer tears and more fire ;” and she declared with passionate vehemence that rather than submit, she would embark for Lisbon in “ any little vessel.” “ That night,” adds Lord Clarendon, “ the fire flamed higher than ever. The King reproached the Queen with stubborness and want of duty: she him with tyranny and want of affection.” The next day, they neither spoke nor looked at each other. The Queen sat “ melancholick in her chamber, all in tears.” The King sought his diversions elsewhere ; never, however, sleeping out of his own apartment. After a few days the Chan¬ cellor again waited on the Queen by the King’s command; but with no better success than is usual with those who interfere in matrimonial squabbles. After exhausting all his arts of diplomacy, and employing such arguments as would have come better from any other lips than those of “ my grave Lord Keeper,” he could not, though the Queen listened to him with edifying patience, draw from her any other reply than “ that the King might do as he pleased, but that she never would consent to it.” The Lord Chancellor, at length withdrew himself from a contest, in which he had cut such a sorry figure, making it his humble suit to the King, that he might no more be consulted, nor employed in an affair, in which he had been so unsuccessful: at the same time, advising him strongly to desist from an intention at once cruel and unjust. But Charles had not studied women to so little purpose: he knew there is QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 35 one method of crushing down a female heart that never fails: and better than the Chancellor he knew that possessing his wife’s unbounded affection, while he cared not for her, he had the game in his own hands: and well he understood how to play it effectually. He no longer insisted, or met violence with violence; but he treated Catherine with a cold and scornful neglect, assuming to others a more than usual gaity and complacency of manner. She was left out in all the mirth and parties of pleasure going forward. Charles studiously proved to her that his happiness in no respect depended on her, nor on her acquiescence in his wishes. The Courtiers, having their cue from their master, forsook her to crowd round Lady Castle- maine; and she was reduced to a mere cypher in her own Court. It was too much to bear: Catherine had strong passions, but no real strength and mag¬ nanimity of character : after a short struggle, in which her pride, her spirits, her heart, were broken down and subdued by continued mortifications, she yielded—and gained nothing by the concession, but the contempt and mistrust of those who had hitherto pitied her ill usage, honoured her firmness, and confided in her principles.* Even the King, who had affected throughout more displeasure than he really felt, and could not but respect the cause from which her opposition sprung, now contemned her for her weak submission, and imputed her former resistance to pride and petulence, rather than affection and female dignity. In the month of August following her marriage, Catherine was induced to receive Lady Castlemaine as one of the Ladies of her Bed Chamber, and to allow her all the honours and privileges attending that office.! It happened on one occasion that Lady Castlemaine came into the Queen’s closet, while she was under the hands of her dresser : “ 1 wonder,” said she, insolently, “ your Majesty can have the patience to sit so long a dressing!” ” I have so much reason to use patience,” rephed the Queen pointedly, “ that I can very well bear it!” This was the retort courteous, such as became a Queen: but Lady Castlemaine was not one to be easily abashed by a repartee. From this time we do not hear of any open misunderstanding between the King and Queen. Charles, who was good humoured and polite, treated * Clarendon’s Life, folio pp. 169, 180. t “ They went away—the King and his Queen, and my Lady Castlemaine and young Crofts (the Duke of Monmouth) in one coach, and the rest mother coaches.”— Pepys’s Diary, 36 QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. his wife with an easy complaisance, which, without satisfying lier tenderness, left her nothing to complain of. She even assumed a gaity of manner which she thought would be agreeable to the King, and encouraged the festivities, the masques, and banquets, in which she knew he delighted: but this struggle to subdue herself, the continued indifference of her husband, the presence of more than one insolent favourite, who braved her in her own Court, above all, her excessive anxiety to have children, which was increased by the prevalent belief that she was incapable of producing heirs to the crown, seem to have preyed upon her mind, and, at length, threw her into a dangerous fever, in which she was twice given over by the Court Physicians.* In her delirium, she raved in the most affecting manner of her children, fancying she had three ; “ but was troubled lest her boy “ should be but an ugly boy; upon which the King, who was present, in “ order to soothe her, said ‘ No, he was a very pretty boy.’ ‘ Nay,’ “ replied the poor Queen distractedly, ‘ if he be like you, he is a very “ pretty boy indeed, and I would be very well pleased with it.-f” In one of her lucid intervals she expi'essed a thankful sense of the King’s affectionate attentions ; which, indeed, ceased not during her illness ; and told him that the sight of his affliction would have made her regret life, but for the con¬ viction that she had never possessed his love, and that in dying, she should make room for a successor more worthy of him, and to whom heaven would perhaps grant the blessing denied to her: and taking his hand while she spoke, she bathed it with tears. The King, who was naturally soft-tem¬ pered, was utterly subdued; he wept and entreated her to live for his sake. His endearing expressions had more effect than all the prescriptions and cordials of Dr. Prujeon; and it was believed at that time were the real cause of her recovery: at all events, her disorder from that moment took a favourable turn, and she was shortly afterwards pronounced out of danger. An incident so romantic, and so well known, was not likely to be passed over in silence by the Poets of those days. Waller, the prince of courtly rhymesters, has made the best use of it, in his Address to the Queen on her Birth-day, soon after her recovery; it is not the happiest of his occasional pieces, but the concluding lines are not without elegance : * In October, 1663. t Pepys’s Diary, Vol. i. 255, 256.—“ This morning, about five o’clock, the Physician feeling the Queen’s pulse, thinking to be better able to judge, she being still and asleep, waked her ; and the first word she said was “ How are the Children I”—Poor Queen ! QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 37 “He that was never known to mourn So many kingdoms from him torn ; His tears reserved for yon, more dear, More prized, than all those kingdoms were ; For when no healing art avail’d. When cordials and elixirs fail’d. On your pale clieek he dropp’d the shower Revived you like a dying flower. There are some other trifling pieces among Waller’s Miscellanies, in which Catherine is flattered with much courtly savoir faire. The little poem of “ Tea commended by her Majesty,” is one of the best. There is also an epigram, not very pointed or significant, “ Upon a card which her Majesty tore at ombre”—whether in petulance or playfulness, we are not told. The remainder of Catherine’s life affords little to interest. She not only never interfered in politics, but did not even attempt to serve or countenance those who were inclined to be her friends; and who, by rallying round her, might have formed a counterpoise to the party of Lady Castlemaine. Lord Sandwich, who brought her over from Portugal, and at first attached him¬ self to her, gave as a reason for his dereliction, that he did not choose “ to fall for her sake, whose wit, management, nor interest, was not likely to hold up any man.” It was, indeed, sufficient for her to distinguish any of the courtiers in particular, to mark them at once as objects of the King’s dis¬ pleasure. Thus young Edwai’d Montagu, the son of Lord Manchester, was disgraced and turned out of the Court, for no other fault than the pride he took in the Queen’s favour. Not that Charles either valued her affections or doubted her discretion, but merely from a love of contradiction, a petty jea¬ lousy of power, or a fear of the raillery of such profligates as Rochester, Buckingham, and Killigrew, his “ all-licenced jester.” But Catherine allowed him few opportunities of thus mortifying her. After having suffered in the first years of her marriage from every passion that could distract a female mind, she appears to have been at length wea¬ ried into perfect indifference; and not only endured her husband’s licentious conduct with equanimity,* but even took pains to reconcile him, on some notable occasions, with his perverse and capricious mistresses. She endeavoured to • “ Mr. Pierce told me, that the good Quceiie will, of herself, stop before she goes sometimes into her dressing-room, till she knows whether the King be there, for fear he should be, as she hath sometimes taken him, with Miss Stewart.”— Pepys’s Diary, Vol. i. 277. F 38 QUEEN CATHERINE OF RRAGANZA. please the King, by encouraging every species of dissipation and gaiety; and even entered into the extravagant masquerading frolics, then so fashionable, with more spirit than success.* “ Once,” says Burnet, “ the Queen’s chair¬ man, not knowing who she was, went from her; so she was alone, and much disturbed, and came to Whitehall in a hackney-coach, some say in a cart.” Another of Catherine’s masquerading whims is recorded in Ives’s Select Papers. There being a fair at Audley-End, where the Court then was, the Queen, the Ducliess of Richmond, (Miss Stewart,) and the Duchess of Buck¬ ingham, disguised themselves as country lasses, in red petticoats, &c. &c. and so went to see the fair : Sir Bernard Gascoigne riding before the Queen on a sorry cart-horse. But they had so caricatured their disguises that they “ looked more like antiques than country-folk,” and the country people began to gather round them:—“ The Queen going into a booth to buy a pair of garters for her sweete harte, and Sii' Bernard asking for a pair of gloves stitched with blue, for his sweete harte, they were betrayed by their gebrish and their exaggerated rusticity; and the Queen being recognized, the whole fair flocked about them. They at length got to their horses; but as man}'^ of the fair as had horses got up with their wives, children, neighbours, and sweete hartes behind them, to get as much gape as they could, ’till they brought them to the court-gate. Thus, by ill conduct, was a merrie frolic turned into a penance.” It should be observed, that nothing worse than a frolic was ever imputed to Queen Catherine, even bv the scandalous Court in which she lived. Buck¬ ingham, who offered to carry her off to the Plantations, out of the King’s way, to give colour to a divorce and make room for Miss Stewart, would not have spared her fair fame, had it not been unimpeachable. The King rejected this idea with horror, saying, “ it was a wicked thing to make a poor lady miserable, only because she was his wife and had no children, which was not her fault.” In that age, when satire w’as “ worn to rags and scribbled out of fashion,” she did not wholly escape the “ fangs of malice,” but the most coarse and violent lampoons of which she was the subject, could not * “ In the hall, to-day. Dr. Pierce (one of the Court Physicians) tells me that the Queene begins to be briske and play like other ladies, and is quite another woman from what she was. It may be, it may make the King like her better,” &c.— Pepys's Diary. Vol. i. p. 225. QUEEN CATHERINE OE BUAGANZA. 39 attack her on any other score than her popish education and her inordinate passion for dancing.* When the question of a divorce was afterwards more seriously debated, and even some preliminary steps taken in the House of Lords,"f* and Dr. Burnet employed to write in favour of it; the King then said publicly, “ that if his conscience would allow him to divorce the Queen, it would suffer him to despatch her out of the world and Buckingham and his worthy coad¬ jutor Lord Bristol, found themselves opposed in a quarter where they cer¬ tainly little expected opposition:—affection for his brother might possibly have influenced Charles in this instance, as well as justice to his Queen. In the same year, 1668, the elder brother of Catherine, Don Alphonso VI., * It seems incredible how a woman who did not aspire beyond the passive, insignificant, inoffensive part Catherine was content to play in her own Court, could ever have provoked the grossness and bitterness of invective which appears in some of these productions. One entitled “ The Queen’s Ball,” which was several times reprinted, and widely circulated, begins thus :— “ Reform, great Queen ! the errors of your youth. And hear a thing you never heard, called truth ! Poor private balls content the Fairy Queen ; You must dance (and dance damnably) to be seen. Ill-natured little goblin ! and designed For nothing but to dance, and vex mankind ! What wiser thing could our great monarch do Than root ambition out by showing you ? You can the most aspiring thoughts pull down ; For who would have his wife to have his crown ?” The next lines seem to refer to some particular trick, or habit, which Catherine had of holding jewels in her mouth ;— “ See in her mouth a sparkling diamond shine ;— 'I'he first good tiling that e’er came from that mine. Heaven some great curse upon that hand dispense. That for the increase of nonsense takes it thence.” After a great deal in the same strain this polite effusion concludes :— “ What will be next, unless you please to go And dance among your fellow-fiends below ! 'Fhere, as upon the Stygian lake you float. You may o’erset and sink the laden boat; While we tlie funeral rites devoutly pay. And dance for joy that you are danced away !” t In the Divorce Bill of Lord Roos, afterwards Earl of Rutland, which was passed through the House to serve as a precedent. I James II.— Vide “ Stuart Papers.” 40 QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. a contemptible and dissolute monarch, was deposed by his Queen and coun¬ cil, and his brother, Don Pedro, a man of courage and talent, placed upon the throne of Portugal. This revolution in no other respects affected the situation or happiness of the Queen of England, than as it probably fur¬ nished an additional reason against the meditated divorce. Some attempts were made, on the King’s part, to induce her to go into a nunnery of her own free will, but, with all her bigotry, she had no vocation that way.* In 1679, during the sanguinary farce of the Popish Plot, the wretches Oates and Bedloe accused the Queen of being privy to the pretended con¬ spiracy against her husband’s life. Animated by a belief that this would be agreeable to the King, Oates had the boldness, at the bar of the House of Commons, to utter these words in his affected phraseology:—“Aye, Taitus Oates, accau.se Catherine, Queen of England, of Haigh Traison!” The grounds of his accusation are stated in the trial of Wakeman, the Queen’s physician ; who, he alleged, was bribed with <£*15,000 to poison the King, in case he should escape the poniard of a Jesuit named Coniers, and the pistols of Pickering and Groves. Oates then swore, “ that three Jesuits carried him with them to Somerset House, where they were summoned to attend the Queen; that he remained in an antichamber, when they were ushered into her presence; that he heard a female voice say, that she would assist Sir George Wakeman in his project, and would no longer bear these repeated violations of her bed. When the fathers came out, he de.sired to see the Queen ; and when .admitted into the antichamber, whence the female voice had proceeded, he saw the Queen, who smiled graciously on him, and there was no other woman present.” These impudent stories, with some blunders, into which the best breathed witness may fall, saved Sir George Wakeman’s life.f In the commencement of this affair, the Commons, maddened with rage and terror, sent up a petition to the King, to have the Queen removed from Whitehall, and her household arrested, or despatched out of the country; and Charles had now an opportunity of ridding himself legally of a wife he * “ This being St. Catlierine’s day, tlie Queene was at masse by seven o’clock this morning ; and Mr. Ashburnham (Groom of tbe Bedchamber) do say, that he never saw any one have so much zeale in his life as .she hath : and (the question being asked by my L.ady Carteret) much beyond the bigotry that ever the old Qucene-mother had.”— Pepys. t See Dryden’s Works, (Sir Walter Scott’s Ed.) vol. ix. p. 294. QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANIZA. 41 had never loved. Such a measure, though it would have consigned him to the abhorrence of posterity, would at the moment have been in the highest de¬ gree popular; but shocked at the audacity of such a monstrous fabrication, and touched with pity for his defenceless and inoffensive Queen, he crushed the accusation at once, observing to those about him, “ They think I have a mind for a new wife; but, for all that, I will not stand by and see an innocent woman abused.” In February 1685, the King was seized with apoplexy, and the Queeil hearing of his danger, but that he was still sensible, sent an earnest request to be admitted to his presence, at the same time entreating his forgiveness for any offences she might have ignorantly committed. Charles refused to see her, but sent her a message, couched in the most affectionate terms, assuring her he had nothing to forgive, but requesting her pardon for the many wrongs he had done her. At this time the Duchess of Portsmouth was seated by his pillow, and she took care that none should approach whose interests were likely to counteract her own. The King, after lingering a few days, died in her arms—a hypocrite to the last. It is remarkable, that Charles II., with all his popular qualities, so beloved, so regretted by the nation he had sold, cheated, impoverished, misgoverned, and enslaved, possessed not one per¬ sonal friend ; and the disgusting negligence with which his last remains were treated, strengthened the false report that he had been poisoned.* He cap¬ tivated all who approached him occasionally by his amiable manners; but only those who were at a distance were deceived by his hollow and heartless courtesy. One by one, the faithful adherents of his family withdrew in di.s- grace or in despair; and he who professedly mocked at the existence of virtue and disinterested attachment, and classed all mankind into knaves and fools, died, as he deserved, without a friend. On the King’s death, Catherine made a very decent display of grief, and received the visits of condolence in a chamber lighted with tapers, and hung with funereal black from the ceiling to the floor.*f- She afterwards resided at Somerset House, as Queen Dowager, and had a villa at Hammersmith, where * See Burnet. t Dryden, in his Monody on the death of Charles II., had the good taste to refrain from any men¬ tion of the Queen, “ sensible that her grief would be an apocryphal as well as delicate theme.” Otway and others had not this forbearance. In one of these poetical “ addresses of condolence” the grief of the Queen for the loss of her royal consort is compared to that of the Blessed Virgin 1 42 QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. she spent the summer months very privately. Her principal diversion during her widowhood was music, which she had always loved. She had concerts regularly, and on a splendid scale: in all other respects she lived with rigid economy. She was much respected by James II. and his Court. In 1692 she returned to Lisbon, carrying with her (according to Walpole) some valuable pictures out of the royal collection, as part payment of a debt she asserted to be due to her from the crown; and died there December 30, 1705, at the age of sixty-three. The picture at Windsor, from which the accompanying portrait is for the first time engraved, is by Sir Peter Lely. In every part, but more especially the drapery, it is admirably painted. She is represented as seated in a chair of state, and dressed in pearls and white satin, relieved by a dark olive curtain in the background. The attitude is rather unmeaning and undignified, but is probably characteristic. The face is round; the nose a little turned up ; the eyes black and languishing ; the mouth, though far from ugly, has an expres¬ sion of pouting melancholy. This portrait appears to have been taken within the first two years after her marriage, while yet she loved her husband, and deeply resented those infidelities and negligences which she afterwards bore with such exemplary patience. The following letter was written by Catherine, with her own hand, to the Duke of Ormond, upon the death of his noble son the Earl of Ossory, The Earl had succeeded Don Francisco de Melos, in 1676, as her Lord Chamberlain; and was lamented by Catherine as a personal friend. Her short letter is expressed with a simplicity and kindly feeling, which does her honour. The original is pre¬ served among the Ormond Papers, inserted in “ Carte’s Life of Ormond.” Indorsed, “ Received 3rd September, 1681.” “ My Lord Duke of Ormond, “ I do not think any thing I can say will lessen your trouble for the death of my Lord Ossory, who is so great a loss to the King and the publicke, as well as to my own particular service, that I know not how to express it; but every day will teach me, by shewing me the want 1 shall find of so true a friend. But 1 must have so much pity upon you as to say but little on so sad a subject; con¬ juring you to believe that I am, “ My Lord Duke of Ormond, “ Your very affectionate friend, “ Cathf.rina Regina.” M •r •>. . ‘iv A^, i, u* A » -■>■ * 1 A, '.«*• * . • »■> •< ., \ A ' « . / by /tier Lely- Kn^ravfJ by TTi-n': Wny/iC. 7 - E, • ; /. * f ^ ^ ..' .?^,V»-, , .^f4 ■ . > < !?- •j S - - t' ..’ ' ^ w <«* V' i,"^. ,• * .Jf r »'« •S' *<■■■ ■ .• . ' 'I' *»&'• - V 7';■’: ■ ^ .*' *>*1 ' V *V ^ f •., - V - V '"i K ■ h ■ '*w: J • ' . ' -' Ai ■ '■-. -i* ■• ’i ■ / : / . ■•b -T ' ■.. A-’ ■s- . i ■ t ^ THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. Love is all gentleness and joy ; Smooth are his looks, and soft his pace ; Her Cupid is a blackguard boy. That rubs his link full in your face ! Earl of Dorset. If any faitli may be given to the scandalous chronicles of that period, the Court of Cromwell, with its cant and cropped heads, its “ weel spread looves, and lang wry faces,” was not less licentious than that of Charles II.: the change was rather of manners than of morals; of costume, rather than of character. In the days of Oliver, Folly stalked about in solemn guise, and hid his bauble under a Geneva cloak ; and in those of Charles, he flourished his coxcomb, and the “ peal of his bells rung merrily out”—and this was better at least than sanctified foolery and sober vice. “ The asiniiia Stella,"* if not more predominant, was at all events more brilliant. It was not so much the supremacy of wickedness, as the magnanimous contempt of appearances—the brave defiance of decorum that distinguished the Court and age of Charles II. from the solemnity of Cromwell’s, and the dullness of William’s. “ The sin was of our native growth ’tis true ; The scandal of the sin was wholly new.” The various causes which led to that general license of manners which prevailed after the Restoration, are recorded by the historian, and do not fall within the province of these light Memoirs: one of them was undoubtedly the personal character of that vain and profligate woman who, in the com¬ mencement of his reign, ruled the Court and the heart of Charles, and whose beauty and misconduct have doomed her to an infamous celebrity. * Che s’io non erro al calcolar de’ punti. Par cb’ asinina Stella a noi predomini. Salvator Rosa- 44 THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAXD. Sir William Villiers, descended from the eldest branch of the House of Villiers, (the younger branch becoming Didiesof Buckingham,) succeeded his uncle, Oliver St. John, in the title of Viscount Grandison, in the kingdom of Ireland. On the breaking out of the civil wars, he, with all his family, ad¬ hered to the King’s party, and distinguished himself by his devoted loyalty and chivalrous bravery. At the siege of Bristol, in 164d, he was desperately wounded, and, being carried to Oxford, died there a few days afterwai’ds, at the age of thirty. Lord Clarendon, who relates the manner of his death, adds this captivating and well-drawn portrait:—“ Lord Grandison was a young man of so virtuous a habit of mind, that no temptation or provocation could cor¬ rupt him ; so great a lover of justice and integrit}^, that no example, necessity, or even the barbarities of this war, could make him swerve from the most pre¬ cise rules of it; and of that rare piety and devotion, that the Court, or camp, could not shew a more faultless person, or to whose example young men might more reasonably conform themselves. His personal valour and courage of all kinds (for he had sometimes indulged so much to the corrupt opinion of honour, as to venture himself in duels) were very eminent, insomuch as he was accused of being too prodigal of his person ; his affection, zeal, and obedience to the King, was such as became a branch of that family.” And he was wont to say, “ that if he had not understanding enough to know the uprightness of the cause, nor loyalty enough to inform him of the duty of a subject, yet the very obligations of gratitude to the King, on the behalf of his house, were such as his life was but a due sacrifice ; and therefore, he no sooner saw the war unavoidable, than he engaged all his brethren, as well as himself, in the service, and there were then three more of them in command in the army, where he was so unfortunately cut off.” He married Mary, third daughter of Paul, Viscount Bayning, by whom he left an only daughter and heiress, Barbara Villiers, afterwards Duchess of Cleveland. Of the early life and education of this too celebrated woman, I have not been able to collect any authentic information. She married, at the age of eighteen, Roger Palmer, Esq., a gentleman of fortune, and loyal adherent of the exiled King. Her first acquaintance with Charles pro¬ bably commei’ced in Holland, whither she accompanied her husband in 1659» when he carried to the King a considerable sum of money, to aid in his resto¬ ration, and assisted him also by his personal services. But her connection with Charles cannot be traced with any certainty before the very day of his entrance into London: oh the evening of that day, Charles, instead of sleep- THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 45 ing in the palace of liis ancestors, to which he had just been restored, skulked away privately to the house of Sir Samuel Morland, at Vauxhall, where he had an assignation with Mrs. Palmer. That an accomplished Prince, in the prime of life, skilled in all the arts that ensnare her sex—the Sovereign for whose sake her father had fought and bled; whom she had just seen restored —miraculously res¬ tored, as it was then believed—to the throne of his fathers, welcomed to his capital with almost delirious joy, and who, in such a moment, threw himself and his new-found kingdom at her feet, should have conquered the heart, and triumphed over the virtue of a woman so vain and volatile —is not marvellous: she was only nineteen, and thrown by the blind confidence or time-serving carelessness of her husband into the very way of temptation. Thus far her frailty, if not excusable, might have been pardoned, if the end had not proved that personal affection for the King had little to do with her lapse from virtue, and that, in short, she was more of a Montespan than a La Valliere—more of an Alice Pierce than a Jane Shore. In a few months after the Restoration, Palmer was created an Irish peer, with the title of Earl of Castlemaine. He, meekest of men, was, or affected to be, a little sulky and restive at first under his new dignities, but means were soon found to pacify him ; and he afterwards submitted to the coronet, and other honours which his beautiful wife showereti on his head, with a spirit of philosophy and resignation which was quite edifying.* * “ But that which pleased me best was, that my Lady Castlemaine stood over against us upon a piece of White Hall. But methought it was strange to see her lord and her upon the same place, walking up and down, without taking notice one of another ; only at first entry, he put off his hat, and she made him a very civil salute, but afterwards took no notice one of another ; but both of them now and then would take their child, which the nurse held in her arms, and dandle it.” This was on occasion of the Queen’s triumphant entry into London, being brought with great state by water from Hampton Court. Immediately after follows a trait of good-nature, which must not be sup¬ pressed, the rather because it is solitary: the worst, however, are not wholly bad. A scaffolding happened to fall at the moment, and Lady Castlemaine was the only one among the great ladies of Court, who, from an impulse of humanity, ran down among the “ common rabble” to see what injury had been done, and took charge of a poor child which had been hurt in the crowd, “ which methought was so noble. Anon came one booted and spurred, whom she talked with ; and by and by, she being in her hair, she put on his hat, which was but an ordinary one, to keep the wind off: but it be¬ came her mightily, as every thing else Ao.’’—-repys’s Diary, Vol. I. p. 161. G 46 THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. The passion of the King for Lady Castlemaine, and her influence over him, were at their lieight at tlie time tliat his marriage with Catherine of Portugal was, from political motives, resolved on. When the Queen’s arri¬ val at Portsmouth was announced in London, Charles was supping at Lady Castlemaine’s house in the Strand. Bonfires had been lighted, in token of respect and rejoicing, before every door in the street, except hers—an omission which did not pass unobserved; nor did she attempt to conceal her despair, when the King left her to meet his bride. It was probably sincere; for she had as much reason to dread, as all good men had to hope, from the influence of a young and beloved Queen. Unhappily her fears and others’ hopes proved groundless: the King could not break the fetters which her charms and her imperious temper had flung round him, and the Queen had not beauty and tact enough to win him from her rival. Catherine had arrived in England with a fixed resolution not to admit Lady Castlemaine into her ])resence—“ her mother,” she said, “ had enjoined her not to do so:” but the King had determined otherwise; and the gay courtiers, who had the most influence over his mind, were precisely those who had every thing to hope from the misrule of Lady Castlemaine, and nothing to expect from the countenance of Catherine. Charles, like all weak men, had a dread of being governed by a ivij'e; and they persuaded him that it was infinitely more magnanimous to be enslaved by a termagant mistress, than to comply with the I'easonable demands of his Queen ; and artfully represented the former, and not the latter, as the object of compassion. They observed “ that he had, by the charms of his person and of his professions, prevailed “ upon the affections and heart of a young and beautiful lady of a noble ex- “ traction, whose father had lost his life in the service of the crown ; that she “ had provoked the jealousy and rage of her husband to that degree, that he “ had separated himself from her ; and now the Queen’s indignation had made “ the matter so notorious to the world, that the disconsolate lady had no place “ of retreat left, but must be made an object of infamy and contempt to all “ her sex and to the whole world.”* * “ Those tIi.scourses,” continues Lord Clarendon, “ together with a little book newly printed “ at Paris according to the licence of that nation, of the amours of Henry IV., which was by them “ presented to him, and too concernedly read by him, made that impression upon his mind,” &c.— t'lurendon’s continuation, &c. It gratified the King to be compared to his grandfather, Henry IV. of France. In his fortunes and his failings there was some resemblance ; in conduct and character, none whatever. THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 47 To give colour to these insinuations, Lady Castlenmine had fled from the house of her husband—not forgetting, however, to carry with her all her jewels, plate, and furniture,—and went over to Richmond, to be nearer to Hampton Court, then the scene of battle. The issue of this affair has been given in the memoir of Queen Catherine. Lady Castlemaine was created one of the Ladies of the Bedchamber, and soon after lodged in Whitehall, where she occupied apartments immediately over those of the King.* From this time may be dated the absolute power Avhich this haughty and abandoned woman exercised over the easy-tempered Charles—an inffuence never exercised but for her own aggrandizement and his dishonour, or the ruin of his best friends and most faithful servants. In her chamber, and among the profligate crew who surrounded her, was prepared the plot against the Lord Chancellor Clarendon, which ended in the disgrace and banishment of that great nobleman, the earliest and best friend of her father.*f- When he returned from Whitehall, after resigning the seals, she jumped out of bed in her night-dress, to look down upon him as he passed, and stood upon her bal¬ cony, abusing him loudly and in the coarsest terms her vulgar malice could suggest. When she quarrelled with the great Duke of Ormond, who had offended her in many ways, but chiefly by refusing to sanction her enormous drains upon the Irish treasury, she reviled him, swore at him, and finally told him “ she hoped to see him hanged.” To which the Duke replied, with a grave humour becoming his character, that “ far from wishing her Lady¬ ship’s days shortened in return, his greatest desire was to see her grow old.” But her countenance was always extended to tliose who flattered her pas¬ sions, ministered to her avarice, or were subservient to her pleasures. She indeed gave encouragement to Dryden in the beginning of his literary career; but it seems to have been more through contradiction than any perception of * See Pepys’s Diary, Vol. I. p. 212.—“ My Lady Castlemaine is removed as to her bed from her own home to a chamber in Whitehall, next to the King’s owne: which I am sorry to hear, though I love her much.” Honest Mr. Pepys is oddly divided between his sense of right and his extravagant admiration for the beauty of Lady Castlemaine, whose very petticoats trimmed with lace, “ it did him good to look upon.” t The Lord Chancellor had refused to put the seal of office to some grant of a place which Lady Castlemaine had disposed of, saying he thought “ the woman would sell every thing shortly which being repeated to her, she sent to tell him, “ that she had disposed of this place, and did not doubt in a little time to dispose of his." She was as good as her word. ft 2 48 THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. merit, that she persisted in patronising his first and worst play, after it had been summarily executed. He repaid her interference by a copy of verses, which is a signal instance of the prostitution of his muse, and in which he compares her to Cato. One would have thought, that even a poet’s imagina¬ tion, fired by admiration and gratitude, could scarcely find or make any com¬ parison between the voluptuous vixen Castlemaine and the Roman Cato; but, as Steele observes, “ there is no stretching a metaphor too far when a lady is in the case.” The sums which this hai*py contrived to appropriate from the funds of the state almost exceed belief. She was, to use Burnet’s coarse expression in speaking of her, “enormously ravenous:” it was however rather rapacity than avarice; for what was obtained unworthily, was lavished as extravagantly. Besides a grant of £5322 a-year out of the post-office, to her and her heirs, she had twenty thousand a-year out of the customs.* What sums were oc¬ casionally paid to her out of the revenues of Ireland cannot be ascertained: besides this income, immense in those days, she had at different times gifts in money, jewels, and plate, to an incredible amount, and this at the time when the King’s household servants were cursing him because they had not bread to eat, and he himself wanted linen, and was stinted in writing paper !£ Berkshire House was purchased for her by the King, in 1668; and as it was of great extent, she added to her income by converting part of it into separate houses and letting them ;| but all was too little to supply her mon¬ strous expenditure. Among her other extravagances was the vice of gaming : * “ Lord St. Jolm, Sir R. Howard, Sir Joliu Beiinet, and Sir W. Bicknell, tlie Brewer, have farmed the customs ; they have signed and sealed ten thousand a-year more to the Duclie.s,s of Cleve¬ land, who has likewise near ten thousand a-year out of the new farm of the Country Excise of beer and ale ; SOOOL a-year out of the Post-office, and they say the reversion of all places in the Custom¬ house, the Green Wax, and indeed what not; all promotions, spiritual and temporal, pass under her cognizance.”—See Andrew ISIarvelFs Letters. “ Barclay (Berkeley) is still Lieutenant of Ireland ; but he was forced to come over to pay ten thousand pounds rent to his landlady, Cleveland.”— lb. t “ This day I was told that my Lady Castlemaine hath all the King’s Christmas presents, made him by the Peers, given to her, which is a most abominable thing : and that at the great ball she was much richer in jewels that the Queene and Duchesse (of York) put both together.”— Pepys's Diary, Vol. i. p. 204. t Berkshire House was formerly the town mansion of the Howards, Earls of Berkshire, and afterwards of Lord Clarendon. It stood on the site of the Marquess of Stafford’s princely resi¬ dence, and the name of its former proprietor is still perpetuated in Cleveland Row. THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 40 in one night she lost at Basset, 25,000/., and was accustomed to stake one thousand, and fifteen hundred pounds at a cast. As the fair Castlemaine was one of those ladies who would “ whisk the stars out of their spheres” rather than lose one iota of their will, it may be imagined that her connexion with the King was not one long summer’s day, all serenity and sunshine. In fact, not satisfied with “ nodding him from the council- board” whenever the whim seized her, she gave way to such inexplicable caprices, and, upon the slightest cause, to such bursts of tempestuous passion, that she sometimes threw the whole Court into an uproar, and drove the poor King half-distracted. It is observable, that as soon as she was well-assured of her power over Charles, and understood his character, she never attempted to carry any point by tenderness or cajolery, but by absenting herself from Court, or by direct violence ; she hectored him, as Pepys says, out of his wits— “ And, witli bent lowering brows, as she would threat, She scold’ and frown’d with froward countenance Unworthy of fair lady’s comely governance.” Speiiser. Charles, wearied by the din of her vituperative tongue, and pained by the dis¬ agreeable sight of so beautiful a face deformed by demon passions, hastened to relieve his eyes and ears by granting her demands, however exorbitant. At times, however, being driven past the bounds of patience, he would make an at¬ tempt at resistance, which was sure to end in his discomfiture. Some instances on record of her coarse manners and termagant temper are ludicrous, and some disgusting.* Once, on some slighting words from the King, she called for her coach at a quarter of an hour’s warning, and, taking with her her plate, jewels, and favourite servants, went off' to Richmond ; tlie King, under pretence of hunting, followed her there ; and before he could prevail on her to return, he was forced to beg pardon on his knees, and, like a little boy that had been whipped, promised “ to do so no more.” On another occasion it happened tliat the Queen, conversing in her draw¬ ing-room with the ladies in attendance, observed to Lady Castlemaine that she * On a certain occasion the King being engaged to sup with her, “ there being a cbiue of beef to roast, and the tide rising into their kitchen that it could not be roasted there, and the cook telling her of it, she answered,—‘ Zounds ! she must set the house on tire but it must be roasted !’ So it was carried to Mrs. Sarah’s husband’s, and there it was roasted.”— Pepys's Dktry, Vol. 1. p. 253. 50 THE HUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. feared that the King took cold by staying so late abroad at her Ladyship’s house. Her Ladyship answered, that the King did not stay late with her —on the con¬ trary, he left her early; therefore she was not answerable for his taking cold ; if he stayed late abroad, it must be somewhere else. The King, entering at that moment, overheard this insinuation, and sudden anger inspired him with unwonted spirit. He whispered in her ear that she was a bold impertinent woman, and commanded her to leave the Court, and not appear again till he sent for her. The indignant fair one took him at his word, and retired to lodgings in Pall Mall. When she had remained there two days unnoticed, she began to be alarmed, and sent to ask permission to take her things from Whitehall. The King informed her she must come for them. To which, after a furious struggle between pride and policy, she condescended, and, the King meeting her there, was, after the usual submissions, forgiven, and har¬ mony restored. The Duke of Buckingham’s disgrace, in 1667, was the occasion of a most bitter quarrel. The Duke was her kinsman, some say her lover, or at least her worthy coadjutor in all schemes of mischief and extravagance; and she took up his cause with all the determined violence of her temper and disposi¬ tion. The consequence was a regular hurricane. The King told her she was “ a jade that meddled with things she had nothing to do with at all;” and the lady retorted by calling his most sacred Majesty a. fool. In the end, she pre¬ vailed as usual, and Buckingham was restored to favour. On another occasion, the King ventured to express his doubts as to his being the father of her youngest child. She was then near her confinement; and in a transport of rage she exclaimed, or rather swore, for her exclamations were usually oaths, that “ whoever was the father, the King should own it; and she would have it christened in the chapel at Whitehall, and owned for the King’s, or she would bring it into the Whitehall gallery and dash the brains of it out before the King’s face;” and forthwith she retired to the house of Sir Daniel Hervey and shut herself up. The King was obliged to follow her; hearing that she threatened to print his letters, a threat she was very capable of executing. He there made concessions on his knees, and she was prevailed on to return to Whitehall—“ not as a mistress, for she scorned him, but as a tyrant to command him.” The last and most tempestuous of these disgraceful scenes ended in her being raised to the dignity of Duchess. It is related by De Grammont in his happiest style of badinage. The King, it THE DUCHESS OE CLEVELAND, 51 seems, had for some time shared her good graces with the accomplished Wycherley,* the handsome Churchill,! and a score of meaner rivals. But at length, though not particularly nice in such matters, and averse to excite the storms he found it so difficult to allay, he began to be somewhat scandalized at the open infidelities of a woman whom he had so publicly distinguished, and ventured a little advice and raillery on the subject of one of her lovers, (the “ invincible Jermyn,”) whom he considered a rival more contemptible and disreputable than Harte, Goodman, or Jacob Hall himself. J His imperious Sultana took fire instantly, and blazed away like a mine of gunpowder. In¬ stead of defending herself, she attacked the King. She reproached him with the baseness of his penchants, his devotion to such idiots as Miss Stewai’t, Miss Wells, and that ^‘petite gueuse de (meaning Nell Gwyn); then followed Hoods of tears, and paroxysms of rage, in which she threatened, like another Medea, to tear her children in pieces, and fire his palace over his head. The King had never ventured to contend for peace with¬ out paying pretty largely for it; for, what was to be done with a fury, who on these occasions, all beautiful as she was, resembled Medea much less than one of her dragons ? In the present instance, though his at¬ tachment to the lady was on the decline, and Miss Stewart reigned the god¬ dess paramount of the day, he was obliged to buy a reconciliation at a dear rate. The Chevalier de Grammont was called in as mediator, and drew up articles of peace, in which it was agreed that Lady Castlemaine’s new lover should be sent to make a little tour into the country; that she should raise no more disturbances on the subject of Miss Wells and Miss Stewart; and, in consideration of so much amiable condescension on the lady’s part, she should be elevated to the rank of a Duchess, with all the honours and privileges per¬ taining to the title, and her pension doubled, to enable her to support her new dignity with becoming eclat. Soon afterwards, “ in consideration of her noble descent, her father’s death in the service of the crown, and by reason (as the letters patent set forth) of her own personal virtues,'" she was created Baro¬ ness of Nonsuch, Countess of Southampton, and Duchess of Cleveland. The * The coiniuencement of lier acquaintance with Wycherley is too characteristic to be given here. It may be found in Grainger and in Dennis’s Letters. t Afterwards Duke of Marlborough. The five thousand pounds which the Duchess of Cleveland gave him, laid the foundation of his fortunes by enabling him to purchase a commission. Yet he was afterwards known to refuse her twenty guineas, which slie wanted to borrow from him at Basset. I The two former were celebrated actors, and the latter a rope-dancer. Harte, of the King’s com¬ pany, had been a captain in the army, and was the finest actor of that day: he excelled in Othello. There is a picture of Harte in the Beauty-room at Windsor. 52 THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. title of Southampton must have doubly gratified her, as having been that of her old enemy, the excellent Lord Southampton, who had frequently excited her utmost displeasure, by refusing to put his seal as Treasurer to her exorbi¬ tant grants of money, &c. After this last rupture, and her elevation of rank, the Duchess withdrew from the Court, though she still occasionally appeared there: her influence over the King did not entirely cease till the reign of the Duchess of Ports¬ mouth began, but she was no longer all powerful; and gradually as she de¬ based herself more and more by her excesses, she sank into neglect and con¬ tempt. Pepys alludes in his Diary to a quarrel about this time between Lady Castlemaine and the Duchess of Richmond, (the predecessor to the fair Stewart in that title,) which threw the whole Court into confusion ; “ wherein the Duchess of Richmond did call my Lady Castlemaine Jane Shore, and hoped she should live to see her come to the same end.” There w'as in truth some poetical justice in the catastrophe of the Duchess of Cleveland, though the Duchess of Richmond had not the comfort of living to witness it. On the death of the Earl of Castlemaine, in 1703, she married a man of desperate fortune and profligate habits, well known by the name of Beau Fielding, and unequalled in those days for the beauty of his person.* Fielding had married her for the sake of her money ; and when she either could not, or would not, any longer supply his extravagancies, he so bai’barously ill-treated her, that she was obliged to have recourse to a magistrate for protection against his outrages. Fortunately for her, it was discovered that he had a former wife living, a low woman, who had cheated him as he had cheated all the rest of her sex. He was prosecuted for bigamy, found guilty, but pardoned by Queen Anne. His conviction relieved the Duchess from his brutality, but she did not long sur¬ vive it: she died of a dropsy at her house at Chiswick, October 9, 1709, mi¬ serable, contemned, and neglected; leaving a name more fitted to “point a moral,” than to “ adorn a tale.” The Duchess of Cleveland was the mother of six children, three sons and three daughters. Charles Fitzroy, her eldest son by the King, was born in 1662, and created, during the lifetime of his mother, Baron Newberry, Earl of Chichester, and Duke of Southampton: on her death he succeeded to the title * See “ The Taller,” No. 50, for the “ History of Orlando the Fair,” i.e. the above-mentioned Beau Fielding ; it is from the pen of Swift. THE DUCHESS OF Cl.EVEUAND. 53 of Duke of Cleveland, in which he was succeeded by his son William, after whose death, in 1774, the title became extinct, and has not since been revived. Her second son, Henry Fitzroy, born in 1663, w'as created Baron of Sud¬ bury, Viscount Ipswich, Earl of Euston, and Duke of Grafton. He was eminently handsome in his person, of a brave and martial spirit; but rough, illiterate, and rude in his manners. He married Isabella, only daughter and heiress of Harry Bennett, Earl of Arlington,* and was killed by a cannon ball at the siege of Cork, 1690, where he served under Marlborough as a volunteer. He is ancestor to the noble family of Fitzroy, jn all its branches: the present Duke of Grafton being the fourth, and the present Lord Southampton the fifth, in descent from him. George Fitzroy, her third son, was created by his father Earl and Duke of Northumberland. He was weak and dissipated, married meanly, and died without issue. Anne Palmer Fitzroy, her eldest daughter, was born in 1661. The Earl of Castlemaine always considered this daughter as his offspring; but the King, by giving her the name of Fitzroy, assigning her the royal arms, * This Duchess of Grafton was the most beautiful woman of lier time ; but it was in the Court of William, and not in that of Charles, that she reigned supreme “ lady of hearts,” and was celebrated by all the wits and poets of the day. Her picture is among the “ Beauties” at Hampton Court. She bore to the end of her long life a most irreproachable character. I am tempted to add the following entries from Evelyn’s Diary, which throw considerable interest round her premature union with the Duke of Grafton: she was then five and the Duke nine years old. “ 1672. Aug. 1. I was at the marriage of Lord Arlington’s lovely daughter (a sweet child if ever there was any) to the Duke of Grafton, the King’s natural son by the Duchess of Cleveland ; the Archbishop of Canterbury officiated, the King and all the grandees of the Court being present.” The infant couple were married again in 1679, she being twelve years old and her husband sixteen. “ 1 confess,” says Evelyn, “ I could give my Lady Arlington little joy, and so I plainly told her; but she said the King wouid have it so, and there was no going back. Thus this sweetest, hopefullest, most beautiful child, and most virtuous too, was sacrificed to a boy that has been rudely bred, without any thing to encourage them but his Ma¬ jesty’s pleasure. I pray God the sweet child find it to her advantage ; who, if my augury deceive me not, will in a few years be sucb a paragon as were fit to make a wife to the greatest prince in Europe. “ 1683. I went to compliment the Duchess of Grafton, now laying in of her first child, a son, which she called for, that I might see it. She was become more beautiful, if it were possible, than before, and full of virtue and sweetness. She discoursed with me of many particulars with great pru¬ dence and gravity beyond her years.” This youthful and lovely mother was then just fifteen. She lived to walk at the coronation of George 11. as Countess of Arlington in her own right, and died in 1722. H 54 THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. and portioning her nobly at her marriage, seemed determined to claim a share of the parentage. She married Lennard Lord Dacre and Earl of Sussex, and left two daughters. Charlotte Fitzroy, who rivalled her mother in beauty, but was far unlike her in every other respect, married the Earl of Litchfield, hy whom she was the mother of eighteen children: one of her daughters. Lady Elizabeth Lee, married Young, the author of the “ Night Thoughts.” Barbara, her youngest daughter, whom the King acknowledged in public, but not in private, became a nun at Pontoise. The beauty of the Duchess of Cleveland was of that splendid and com¬ manding character, that dazzles rather than interests ; it was, however, perfect in its kind. At a time when she was most unpopular, and her charms and excesses wex'e creating disturbances in the Court and disaffection in the country, she went to Bartholomew fair to view “ the rare puppet-show of Patient Grizzle,” (by which, it is to be hoped, she was greatly edified.) The rabble, recognizing her equipage, followed it with hisses and curses; but when she stepped out, and looked round in all the proud consciousness of irresistible beauty, the people, struck with admiration, changed their cur¬ ses into blessings “ on her handsome face,” though it had helped to undo a nation. The picture at Windsor (from which the portrait is engraved) represents her as Pallas or Bellona; the last is certainly the more appropriate character; it is full of the imperious expression of the original. The face is perfectly beautiful, the rich red lips are curled with arrogance and womanish disdain,” and the eyes look from under their drooping lids with a certain fierceness of expression; the action, the attitude, the accompani¬ ments, are all those of a virago; she grasps the spear with the air of an all- conquering beauty, and leans on her shield as if she disdained to use it; while the grand tempestuous sky in the background, with broken gleams of light flashing across it, is in admirable keeping with the whole. / ' // /■ / / / / • / // V ''////'''//////'. / „..y. -I \ ■i . • »* 5 ’ ' J f ■n .ii fm*- f \ X '••’ v' ' Vi r ■ i !• THE COUNTESS DE GRAMMONT. A woman of that rare behaviour, So qualified, that admiration Dwells round about her ; of that perfect spirit, I'hat admirable carriage. That sweetness in discourse—young as the morning, Her blushes staining his. Fletcher. The Countess de Grammont, or rather, to give her the fair and merited title by which she is better known, La Belle Hamilton —young, beautiful, wise, and witty, and discreet withal, “ even to detraction’s desperation,”— seemed to have been placed in Charles’s Court purposely to redeem the credit of her sex. She moved in that profligate sphere in an orbit of her own: there were some indeed rash enough to reach at stars because they shone upon them, but she was beyond a mere coxcomb’s flight; and on she passed, looking su¬ perior down in all the majesty of virtue and all the light of loveliness. Tal vagbeggiata in del o luna o Stella, Che segue altiera 11 suo viaggio, et splende. La Belle Hamilton !—the very name has a spell in it of power to carry us back a century and a half. What bright visions rise of flirtations at Summer Hill, and promenades at Tunbridge Wells!—of maids of honour, coijjjees a la negligence, and gay gallants in perfumed periwigs!—what corantos, and gal- liards, and Court balls, and country frolics; and poor Lady Muskerry and her bambino, and her costume a la Princesse de Babylon!—Put we must descend to grave biography, and take things in order. The advice of the giant Moulineau, “ Belier, mon Ami! commencez au commencement^' is excellent; particularly when we are writing or reading the life of a celebrated Beauty— where the conclusion is to the beginning, like a musty moral out of Epictetus tacked to the end of a fairy tale. Sir George Hamilton, fourth son of James, first Earl of Abercorn, after H 2 THE COUNTESS DE GKAMMONT. 56 distinguishing himself greatly in the civil wars, retired to France on the death of the King, his master. He resided abroad for several years, had a corn- mand in the French army, and in France several of his children were born and most of them educated, which accounts for the predilection they after¬ wards showed for that country.* At the Restoration Sir George Hamilton returned to England with a numerous family of gallant sons and lovely daugh¬ ters, among them Elizabeth Hamilton, his eldest daughter, who being then just of an age to be introduced at Court, soon became one of its prin¬ cipal ornaments. She appeared in that gay and splendid circle with many advantages. She was of noble descent, allied to the most illustrious families of England, Scot¬ land, and Ireland; she was the niece of the Duke of Ormond, her mother being the sister of that great nobleman ; her eldest brother was groom of the bedchamber, and a special favourite of the King; her two younger bro¬ thers were distinguished among the brave and gay : she lierself united to a most captivating person and manner such accomplishments as few women of her time possessed, and which she had cultivated during her father’s exile. It does not appear that Miss Hamilton accepted any ostensible office near the person of the Queen or of the Duchess of York ; but she was soon distinguished by the favour of both, more particularly by that of the Duchess; and was ha¬ bitually included in their most select circles, as well as in all the balls, masques, banquets, and public festivities of the Court. It was at this time that De Grammont first met her ; but it was long after his marriage that he dictated to her brother Anthony that enchant¬ ing descriyition of her which ayipears in his Memoirs. The lover-like feel¬ ing which breathes through the whole—the beauty, delicacy, and individuality of the portrait show that De Grammont, with all his frivolity and incon¬ stancy, still remembered with tenderness, after a union of twenty years, the charms which had first touched and fixed his volatile heart. She was then just arrived at that age when the budding girl expands into the woman : her figure was tall, rather full, but elegantly formed ; and, to borrow Lord Herbert’s beautiful expression, “ varied itself into every grace that can belong either to rest or motion.” She had the finest neck and • Two of Miss Hamilton’s brothers died in the service of France, with the title of Count. THE COUNTESS DE GRAMMONT. 57 the loveliest hand and arm in the world ; her forehead was fair and open ; her hair dark and luxuriant, always arranged with the most exquisite taste, but with an air of natural and picturesque simplicity, which meaner beauties in vain essayed to copy; her complexion, at a time when the use of paint was universal, owed nothing to art; her eyes were not large, but sparkling and full of expression ; her mouth, though not a little haughtiness is implied in the curve of the under lip, was charming, and the contour of her face perfect. T. he soul which Heaven had lodged in this fair person was worthy of its shrine. In those day.s, the very golden age of folly and affectation, the Beauties, by prescriptive right, might he divided into two factions, whom I shall call the langimbers and the sparklers; the languishers were those who, being dull by nature, or at least not bright, affected an extreme softness— lounged and lolled—simpered and sighed—lisped or drawled out their words —half shut their eyes—and moved as if “ they were not born to carry their own weight.” The sparklers were those who, upon the strength of bright eyes and some natural vivacity and impertinence, set up for female wits: in conversation they attempted to dazzle by such sallies as would now be scarcely tolerated from the most abandoned of their sex; they were gay, airy, fluttering, fantastical, and talkative—they dealt in bon mots and repartees —they threw their glances right and left, a tort et a trovers —and piqued themselves upon taking hearts by a cottp-de-main. Miss Hamilton belonged to neither of these classes : though lively by nature, she had felt perhaps the necessity of maintaining a reserve of manner which should keep presumptuous fops at a distance. She wore her feminine dignity as an advanced guard— her wit as a body of reserve. She did not speak much, but what she said was to the purpose, just what the occasion demanded and no more. Fiere a, toute out ranee, whenever she was called upon to stand on the defensive, she was less possessed with the idea of her own merit than might have been supposed; and, far from thinking her consequence increased by the number of her lovers, she was singularly fastidious with regard to the qualifications of those whom she admitted upon the list of aspirants. De Grammont had hitherto received few repulses, hut “ heureux sans etre ainie," he began to be weary of pursuing conquests so little worth. Miss Hamilton was something new, something diflerent from any thing he had yet encountered in the form of woman. He soon perceived that the stratagems 58 THE COUNTESS DE GRAMMONT. he had hitherto found all-prevailing,—flattery and billet doux, French fans, and garits de Martial* —would be entirely misplaced in his present pursuit: he laid aside his usual methods of proceeding,f and, all his powers of captivating called forth by a real and deep attachment, he bent his whole soul to please, and he succeeded. Meantime he had many rivals, but not such as were calculated to give him much uneasiness. Among them, the first, in rank at least, was the Duke of York, who became enamoured of Miss Hamilton’s picture, which he saw at Sir Peter Lely’s, and straight fell to ogling the fair original with all his might. The Duke was extremely fond of hunting; and on his return from these expe¬ ditions, when he joined the circle in the Duchess’s drawing-room, he stationed himself near Miss Hamilton; and while he amused her with the exploits of himself, and his horses, and his dogs, his eyes expressed what his tongue left unsaid. It would sometimes happen, indeed, that those tender interpreters of his flame would wink and close fort de leur lorgiierie T for princes, like other men, are subject to fatigue as well as love. The Duchess, secure in the principles and character of her young favourite, never treated her with so much countenance and friendship as at this time. Miss Hamilton herself affected not to perceive the Duke’s passion ; and when she was obliged to take notice of it, “ elle prenait la peine de s'eii divertir avec tout le respect du “ mondeP Nor was she more easily pleased on the score of honourable proposals. So much the more as slie refused to love, So much the more she loved was and sought. The Duke of Richmond was a gambler and a sot; but he stood nearest in blood to the throne after the Duke of York, and was considered the first match in the kingdom. Miss Hamilton thought otherwise. The • Martial was a famous Parisian glove-maker of that time. “ Est-ce qiie Martial fait les epi- grammes aussi bien que les gants ?” asks Moli^re’s Comtesse d’Escarbagnas, in allusion to his Latin namesake. T’lie English translator of the M^moires de Grammont has rendered Miss Ha¬ milton’s “ deux ou trois paires de gants de blartial” into “ two or three pair of military gloves”— a blunder oidy equalled by the translation of “ Love’s last Shift” into “ La derniere chemise de I’ainour.” + They were rather singular .—“ Des qu’une femme vous plait,” says St. Evremond to him, “ v6tre premier soin est d’apprendre si elle est aimee d’un autre, et le second de la faire enrager,— car de vous en faire aimer n’est que le dernier de vos soins.” THE COUNTESS DE GRAMMONT. 59 Duke, though much enamoured, demurred at making proposals, on the score of the lady’s fortune; and she never forgave him. In vain the King interfered, and condescended to solicit her in his favour; in vain he offered to portion her nobly, in consideration of the services of her father and his own re¬ lationship to the Duke—he was rejected unequivocally. She could resist the invincible Jermyn, undazzled by the glare of that all-conquering reputation, which found Lady Castlemaine an easy prey, and which even the fair Jen¬ nings could not withstand. She refused the Earl of Arundel, (afterwards Duke of Norfolk,) who laid himself, his expectant Dukedom, and his thirty thousand a-year, at her feet; and disdained to be the first peeress of England at the expense of marrying a fool. The elder Russel tendered to her accept¬ ance his “ latter summer,” and his vast possessions; the younger Russel, his nephew, did his best to supplant his uncle, with no better success; and Berke¬ ley, Earl of Falmouth,* the personal friend and favourite both of the King and the Duke of York, whose rank, riches, and influence-rendered him one of the greatest subjects in the kingdom ; a man of pleasure by profession, vain, bold, and quick of wit;—even he confessed to St. Evremond that the possession of Miss Hamilton was alone wanting to crown all his desires ; but that he had too much pride to owe her hand to the interference of her parents, and dared not hazard the refusal he anticipated from herself.” De Grammont was not discouraged by the number, rank, and pretensions of his competitors: he was, in truth, but a younger brother, a banished man, under the displeasure of his own sovereign, deprived of his commission, and with no other resource but the gaming-table to supply his expensive habits; but he was handsome, and brave, and possessed of unequalled powers of pleasing whenever he chose to exert them. He had the highest possible opinion of the understanding of his mistress, and his opinion of his own merit was not such as to induce him to despair. Meanwhile Miss Hamilton, though considerably occupied and interested by the assiduities of her captivating lover, found time and thoughts to give to other matters. She was wary and proud from the circumstances in which she was placed, but she had all the light-heartedness of youth, and was more than once seized with the whim of mingling a little innocent mischief, by way of variety, with the mischief of another sort with which she was surrounded. A • Lord Clarendon says that Berkeley was “ one upon whom the King had set his affection so much, that he had never denied any thing he asked for himself or any body else.” He married the beautiful Miss Bagot, and was killed in the great sea-fight in 16(15. 60 THE COUNTESS DE GRAMMONT. fit subject for her mirthful humour presented itself in her cousin, Lady Muskerry.* Lady Muskerry was not deficient in understanding nor yet in good-na¬ ture; but she was to the last degree ridiculous and eccentric—as mad as the Duchess of Newcastle, but after a less dignified fashion. She was ex¬ cessively vain; extravagantly fond of dress, without a particle of taste; and a more indefatigable and enthusiastic dancer than her Majesty the Queen, with even less capability of shining in that accomplishment; for she was de¬ formed in her person, and Nature iiad shown an undue partiality to one leg, by lengthening it at the expense of the other. It was the constant care of Lord Muskerry (a very good sort of man) to prevent his wife from rendering him supremely ridiculous by the exhibitions she was accustomed to make of herself before the whole Court. But in vain ; for the dancing mania was so strong upon her, that no restraint short of durance under lock and key could keep her in order. The Queen, who could only please her husband by flattering his taste for pleasure,-f- announced her intention of giving a masked ball, which was to exceed in magnificence all the entertainments which had been given since her marriage. The guests were to represent bands from different nations, and each ticket contained the name of a lady and a gentleman, who were considered as partners for the night ; the costume in which they were to appear was also indicated. The King, who had much good-nature, and was perfectly au fait of all the intrigues which were going forward in his Court, contrived that his guests should be paired as agreeably as possible to them¬ selves, and assigned to the Chevalier de Grammont the delightful task of conducting Miss Hamilton. His Majesty also left him the choice of the costume in which he would choose to appear. De Grammont, with the ready politeness of his nation, replied “ that as he had resided long enough in his Majesty’s Court to become almost an Englishman, and even to be mis¬ taken for one, he should enroll himself in the French corps, and disguise * Margaret de Burgh, daughter of the Earl of Clanricarde, married to Lord Muskerry, eldest sou of the Earl of Clancarty. Lady Muskerry was a great heiress, and, in spite of her deformity of person, was three times married. t “ La Reine avait de I’esprit, et mettait tons ses soins a plaire au Roi par les comjdaisances qui coutaient le raoins ^ sa tendresse. Elle etait attentive aux plaisirs et aux amusemens qu’elle pou- vait fournir, surtout lorsqu’elle devait en etre.” THE COUNTESS DE GRAIMMONT. 61 himself a la Fiaiicaise and he sent off his valet to Paris immediately, to order the most splendid dress that could be procured for this grand occasion. Meantime Lord Muskerry and his chh'e rnoitie were both in a fever of ap¬ prehension : he, lest his wife should be invited ; and she, lest by any treasonable practices on his part she should be excluded. He took his measures so effectually, that she was passed over in the list of invitations, the Queen being well content to spare ber Jtle the ridicule of such an exhibition. Lady IVIus- kerry fretted Avith suspense and impatience; she was sure there was some mis¬ take—it was not possible that upon an occasion which gave her such an illus¬ trious opportunity of shining in her favourite accomplishment, she should be excluded from Court. She made Miss Hamilton the confidant of all her hopes and fears; and Miss Hamilton, possessed by the arch-spirit of mischief, deter¬ mined to amuse herself and her brothers at the expense of her ridiculous cou¬ sin. A ticket was prepared with excellent device, in imitation of her own, which invited Lady Muskerry to the Court ball, and bore the Queen’s com¬ mand that she should appear eii Buhylotnenm. A page disguised in the royal livery delivered this to Lady Muskerry, with an apology for the mis¬ take which had caused so long a delay. But Lady Muskerry was in too great a rapture to listen to apologies; thrice she kissed upon her knees the gracious billet which opened the door to paradise, and a treble gratuity Avas ordered to the fortunate page. She then sat down to consider the important affair of her dress. The subject was embarrassing and the time Avas short. She had never been in Babylon in her life; but others, she thought, might be better informed than herself: she therefore spent tAvo days driving about to consult all her acquain¬ tances upon the subject of her Babylonian attire,—among the rest Miss Hamil¬ ton. She took care, hoAvever, to keep her good fortune a profound secret from her husband ; anticipating a degree of opposition in that quarter, which she had not courage to brave :—like manv of her sex, she could rebel, but dared not disobey. Various Avere the tastes and opinions of those she con¬ sulted ; and Lady Muskerry, that she might be assured of being in the right, adopted the suggestions of all; so that even IVIiss Hamilton herself could never have anticipated any thing so marvellously absurd, or so extraA'agant, as the appearance her Ladyshi]A made eii Babyloiiieinie. The night at length arrived; but, to the amazement of the whole Court, I THE COUNTESS DE GRAMJIOXT. ()2 De Grammont, hitherto renowned for his magnificence and gallantry, was not only one of the last to make his appearance, but when he did lead up Miss Hamilton, it was observed that thougli he wore a wig so vast, so powdered, and so essenced, that it eclipsed even that of Sir George Hewit*—the finest point bands and ruffles, and the smallest hat that had ever ajipeared, yet his coat was merely an ordinary court-dress, rich indeed, but totally unbe¬ fitting the occasion. The Count replied to the King’s raillery by relating, with his unc(]ualled spirit and pleasantry, the history of his hapless costume a la Frau^aise; which, according to his knavish valet, had been swallowed up in a quicksand near Calais. “But ajiropos! Sire,’’ continued the Count, when he had finished a story which threw the King and Court into convulsions of laughter; “ may I presume to ask your Majesty who is that goblin e)i masque, “ whom I have encountered at the entrance } She had nearly laid violent “ hands upon me as I entered, insisting that I must be the cavalier appointed “ to lead her in the dance ! May I perish. Sire ! if I do not think she has “ dropped from some planet, to lie in ambuscade at your palace gate and seize “ upon unwary cavaliers, for nothing beneath the moon was ever so monstrous “ or fantastic. She is enveloped in at least sixty yards of silver gauze, and “ carries a pyramid like that of Cheops on her head, ‘ garnie de cent mille “ brimbo! lens' ” At this description the courtiers gazed at each other. The Queen looked round her wonder-struck, well assured that all whom she had invited were then present. “ Odds-fish !” exelaimed the King, laughing; “ I have it ! It “ is some new extravaganza of that crack-brained Duchess of Newcastle!”— and, to the consternation of those in the secret and the delight of those who wei’e not, he commanded that her Grace should be instantly admitted. It was now Miss Hamilton’s turn to be alarmed, and to blush and tremble behind her fan ; for if Lady Muskerry had been introduced to the Royal presence in her present grotesque garb, the jest would have gone much farther than she intended. Lord Muskerry, however, relieved her from her terrors. He had been standing in the circle while De Grammont was speak¬ ing, and whispered Miss Hamilton,—“ Now I for my part would lay a wager that it is another mad woman—and that no other than my own fantastic fool of a wife !” He immediately offered himself to execute the Royal commis- * The beau par excellence, the original Sir Fopliug Flutter of tlie day. THE COUNTESS DE GUAMMONT. Gi3 sion, and found her accordingly, still seated in her carriage at the gate, in a paroxysm of despair, and raving against the faithless cavalier who had been appointed to attend upon her. He conducted her home by main force, locked her up in her chamber, and placed a sentinel at her door. Miss Hamilton this time escaped undiscovered. For some other of her malicious frolics, played off' at the expense of Miss Blague, “ awa blondes paupieres," and that laughter-loving gipsy, Miss Price, who deserved the extremity of mischief; and the scene at Tunbridge Wells, in which poor Lady Mus- kerry was again made to play a principal part; the reader who has not read the Memoires de Grammont, (if such there be,) is referred to that work. The grace, the spirit, the arch humour, which give to these “ airy nothings” all their charm and importance, must, of necessity, evaporate in the best at¬ tempt at a translation. While these festivities Avere going forward, the Chevalier de Graramont had every opportunity of paying the most assiduous court to his mistress ; and the more difficult he found her of attainment, the stronger became his attachment. Even play, hitherto his ruling passion, could not detain him from Miss Hamilton’s side, and his fi-iends began to think the affair grew serious when Lady Castlemaine’s basset-table was forsaken for the Duchess of Ormond’s drawing room. St. Evremond undertook to give him some pertinent advice on the subject, representing the utter improbability of his prevailing with Miss Hamilton, and the utter impossibility of his marrying if he could ; and ended by enumerating the suitors whom she had already refused, and whose pretensions were so far above those of an untitled, penny¬ less, younger brother. “ My good friend,” replied the gay Chevalier, “ thou art a philosopher— tu connais la nature des etoiles du del; mais pour les astres de la terre, tu n\t/ connais rien. I have just had a lecture from the King, of three hours’ length, upon the same score. What do you tell me of those Ostrogoths, my rivals Think you, if Miss Hamilton had deiened to listen to them, that I should have cared to obtain her Ecoutes, rnon ami! I will marry Miss Hamilton in spite of them and the world ; I will have my banishment reversed ; she shall be Dame du Palais to the Queen of France ; my brother will be ])leased to die some day or other for our particular gratification ; Miss Hamilton shall be mistress of Semeat* and Countess de Grammont, to make her amends for the loss of that oaf, Nor- * Tlie chateau of the De Grammont family. I 2 64 THE COUNTESS DE GRAMMONT. folk, that sot Richmond, and that rake Falmouth. And what have you to say to this, mo)i pauvre philosopht!” And so it proved, for liOve in this instance was a better prophet than usual. De Grammont obtained the reward which his audacity and perseverance per¬ haps deserved, and carried off this paragon from all his competitors; but it was no sooner secured than he seems, with his usual volatility, to have neg¬ lected his conquest. It has been said, with little probability, that one circum¬ stance attending this marriage inspired Moliere with the first idea of “ Le Manage Force.” Louis XIV. having been pi’evailed on at length to recall De Grammont, after a banishment of six or seven years,* he was in such haste to return to France, that he left London without performing his engagements to Miss Hamilton. Her two brothers, Anthony and George Hamilton, pursued him to Dover, and overtaking him at the inn, they exclaimed aloud, “ Cheva¬ lier de Grammont, n’avez vous rien oublie a Londres “ Pardonnez moi. Messieurs,” replied this ardent lover, “j’ai oublie d’epouser votre soeur.” We may suppose that when his high-spirited mistress gave him her hand, she was unacquainted vvith this characteristic trait. The Count de Grammont left England finally in 1669, about a year after bis marriage. Charles, in a letter to his sister, the unfortunate Duchess of Or¬ leans, dated in October that year, recommends the Countess de Grammont to his sister’s friendship. “ I writt to you,” he says, “ yesterday by the Compte de Grammont; but I beleeve this letter will come sooner to your handes, for he goes by Dieppe with his wife and family. And now that I have named her, I cannot chuse but againe desire you to be kind to her; for besides the merritt her family has on both sides, she is as good a creature as ever lived. I beleeve she will passe for a handsome woman in France, though she has not yett since her lying-in recovered that good shape she had before, and I am afraid never will.” It appears from the slight manner in which Charles speaks of the Coun¬ tess’s beauty, that her charms were partly lost upon his gross taste: nor is it surprising that the man whose soul and senses were enslaved by the vulgar * De Grammont, witli hi.s usual audacity and love of contradiction, had ventured to make him¬ self particularly agreeable to a lady (Mademoiselle de Mothe-Houdaucourt) whom his Majesty as particularly admired—for this crime he was banished. THE COUNTESS DE GKAMMONT. 65 and vicious Castleinaine, should be dead to the intellectual graces and refined loveliness of Miss Hamilton. The Countess de Grammont spent the rest of her life in the French Court. Her beauty and elegance charmed the King, yet she did not univer¬ sally please; Madame de Maintenon thought her plus ngrtable qti'aimable^'' perhaps because, though she could amuse with her lively wit, she would not stoop to flatter. When Madame de Caylus called her “ Auglaise insupportable,” she probably spoke in the character of a Frenchwoman and a rival wit and beauty. Madame de Grammont, soon after her arrival in France, was appointed “ Home Pg/ow ” at Versailles ; and, in a few years afterwards, De Grammont became, by the death of his elder brother, one of the richest and most powerful of the noblesse. It is pain to think that the man who had sufficient delicacy and discrimi¬ nation to feel the accomplishments of such a woman as Miss Hamilton, and spirit enough to win and wear her, was so little worthy of his happiness. We look for something far beyond mere superficial talents and graces in him who was the husband of one so peerless. He was gay, gallant, polished in his address, and elegant in his person ; his wit ready, pointed, yet perfectly good- humoured : he told a story with inimitable grace—then, as now, a true Parisian accomplishment. He appears to have been a man of the most happy temperament, his vivacity and animal spirits inexhaustible, and his invulner¬ able self-complacency beyond the reach of a serious thought or a profound feeling of any kind. But these are only the garnish and “ outward flourishes,” which make a character otherwise estimable, irresistible. Where was the high honour, the chivalrous feeling, the refined sentiments, the nobility of soul, the generous self-devotion, which should have distinguished the hus¬ band of Miss Hamilton ? Frivolous, worthless, heartless, inconstant, a selfish epicure, a gambler, a sharper, a most malicious enemy, a negligent friend, and a faithless lover :—such was De Grammont, such is the character which Bussy- Rabutin,*and even his partial friend St. Evremond have left of him, and which * “ Le Chevalier avail les yeiix riaiis, le nez bien fait, la bouche belle, une petite fossette au menton, qiii faisait un agr^able effet sur sou visage ; je iie sais quoi de flu dans la physionomie, la faille assez belle s’il ne se fut point voute, I’esprit galaut et d^licat. II dcrivait le plus nial du monde.—Quoiqu’il soil superflu de dire qu'un rival soil incommode, le Chevalier retail au point qu il eut mieux valu pour une pauvre femme, en avoir quatre sur les bras que lui seul. 11 ^tait liberal jusques h. la profusion ; et par Ik -sa inaitresse ni ses rivaux ne poiivait avoir de valets fld&les. D ail- 66 THE COUNTESS DE GllAJlMONT. he was well content to support in the “jNienioires” which Hamilton wrote from his dictation, and published in his lifetime.* Whether the lovely, noble- minded, and far-superior woman, who had flung away herself upon his un¬ worthiness, afterwards discovered how false was the foundation on which she had built her happiness, we have no means of knowing;—if not, she was more effectually blinded by love than many of her sex who have committed the same irreparable mistake. They appear to have lived together on easy terms. Towards the latter part of her life the Countess de Grammont became very devout, and was extremely scandalised by her husband’s epicurism and infidelity. De Gram¬ mont, who had never known an hour’s sickness, used to say he should never die. At last, however, in his seventy-fifth year, he fell dangerously ill, and the King (Louis XIV.) sent the Marquis Dangeau to him, to remind him that it was time to think of God. De Grammont listened to him with polite attention, and, turning to his wife, said with a smile, “ Comtesse, si vous n’y “ prenez garde, Dangeau vous escamotera ma conversion !” He recovered from this attack, and seemed more than ever convinced of his own immorta¬ lity—but paid at length the forfeit of humanity, dying in 1707, at the age of eighty-six. From a letter of St. Evremond to Ninon de I’Enclos, it ap¬ pears that his wife had the satisfaction of converting him at last, and that he died “ tria devot” The Countess survived him but a short time; she left two daughters. Claude Charlotte, the eldest, inherited her mother’s beauty and her father’s leurs le meilleur gallon du moiide. Une chose qui faisait qu'il lui ^tait plus difficile de persuader qu’k nil autre, 6tait qu’il iie parlait jamais serieusenieul, de sorte qu’il fallait qu’uiie femme se flattait beaucoup jiour croire qu’il fut amoureux d’elle .”—Histoire Ammrcuse des Gaules. * Before the “ M^moires du Comte de Grammont” were published, they were of course sub¬ mitted to the censorship. Fontenelle was then Censeur Royal; and he was so scandalised at the idea of a peer of France being represented as a common sharper, or, in polite phrase, “ one who used ad¬ dress to correct the errors of Fortune,” that he flatly refused his approbation. De Grammont, on hearing this, hastened to wait upon the scrupulous censor, and demanded, with his usual vivacity, what business he had to be more .solicitous about a nobleman’.s reputation than he was himself? and desired that he would do him the favour instantly to sign the licence, if the freedom with which his character was treated was the only objection to the work. Fontenelle, as it may be supposed, made no more difficulties. He might have replied to De Grammont, as the latter did to Madame de Herault. The Count had visited the lady to [lay his compliments of condolence on the death of her husband : she received them with an air of extreme coldness ; upon which, suddenly changing his tone, he ex¬ claimed gaily,—“ Le prencz-vous par la ?—Ma foi, je ne m’eii soucie pas plus que vous !” THE COUNTESS DE GRAM MONT. 67 wit and vivacity. She married Henry Lord Stafford, and is the same Lady Stafford who was the friend and correspondent of Lady M. W. Montague. The youngest daughter died Abbess of a convent in Lorraine. The portrait annexed, is from the picture by Sir Peter Lely, painted for tlie Duchess of York, and now at Windsor. We are told that, at the time, Lely was enchanted with his subject, and every one considered it as the finest effort of his pencil, both as a painting and a resemblance.* The dignified attitude and elegant turn of the head, are well befitting ber who was “ grande et gracieuse dans le nmindre de ses moveniens we have here “ le petit nez delicat,’' the fine contour of face, the lovely bust, the open expansive brow, and the lips, ripe, rich, and breathing sweets — at least to the imagination. A few pearls are negligently interwoven among her luxuriant tresses, as if on purpose to recall Crashaw’s beautiful compli¬ ment to his mistress :— “ Tresses that wear Jewels but to declare How unicli themselves more precious are. Each ruby there, Or pearl, that dare appear. Be its own blush ,—be its own tear." The countenance has infinitely more spirit and intellect than Sir Peter Lely’s beauties in general exhibit; and though perhaps a little too proud and elevated in its present expression, it must have been, when brightened into smiles, or softened with affection, exquisitely bewitching. The neck and throat are beautifully painted, the drapery is grand and well-disposed, and the background has a rich and deep tone of colour, finely relieving the figure. There is a slight defect in the drawing of the right arm. Lely did not, like Vandyke, paint his hands and arms from nature : they are in general all alike, pretty and delicate, but destitute of individual character, and often ill-drawn. In the present instance, this is the more to be regretted, because Miss Hamilton, among her other perfections, was, celebrated for the matchless beauty of her hand and arm. * Chaque portrait parut un chef-rt’oeuvre ; et celui de Mademoiselle Hamilton parut le plus achev^. Lely avoua qu’il y avait prit plaisir, &c. 68 THE COUNTESS HE GRAMMONT. EPITRE DE ST. EVREMOND A M. LE CHEVALIER DE GRAMMONT, % A I’occasion de son amour pour 1\ I a demoiselle Hamilton Tl n’est qii’un Chevalier au nionde ! Et que ceux de la table ronde, Que les plus fameux aux touniois, Aux avantures, aux exploits. Me pardonnent si je les quitte Pour chanter un nouveau merite ; C’est celui qu’on vit k la cour, Jadis si galant sans amour, Le meme qui s6t k Bruxelles Comnie ici plaire aux demoiselles ; Gagner tout I’argent des niaris, Et puis revenir a Paris, Ayant couru toute la terre Dans le jeu, I’ainour, et la guerre. Insolent en prosperity. Fort couitois en necessity, L’anie en fortune liherale, Aux ci-yaiiciers pas trop loyale : Qui n’a changy, ni changera, Et seul au monde qu’on verra Soutenir la blanche vieillesse Comme il a passe la jeunesse ; Rare merveille de notres jours N’^taient vos trop longues amours, N’^tait la sincere tendresse Dont vous aimez votre princesse, N’^tait qu’ici les beaux d^sirs Vous font pousser de vrais soupirs, Et qu’enfin vous quittez pour elle, Votre merite d’infidele— Cher et parfalt oi'iginal! Vous n’auriez jamais eu d’egal. II est des heros pour la guerre, Mille grands hommes sur la terre, Mais au sens de Saint Evremond Rien qu’un Chevalier de Grammont; Et jamais ne sera de vie. Plus admiry et moins suivie ! f'ainud by Wf/’y’ff'f. /.; V- . r 'S' I m if <0.' A S^''‘ - ■rtJc'A- ■' w ^ t -» - - ■. ,«. • Y -r yc, _. ft,' : •r “n--' .\ ■ ft -r / ^ * ■* r t I * •^p. s K 1 ' f . • > ■ jZ,*! THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. “ Her person was a paradise, and her soul the cherub to guard it.”—D ryden. Emilie De Nassau, Countess of Ossory, was the eldest daughter of Louis de Nassau, Lord of Beverweert, of Odyke, and Auverquerque, in Hol¬ land, the acknowledged, but not legitimate son, of Maurice Prince of Orange. He was a man of tried virtue, talents, and courage, and the intimate friend of De Witt. Lady Ossory is interesting from her extreme beauty, her tenderness, and her feminine virtues. But her alliance with the house of Ormond, which connected her at the same time with all the noblest families of England and Ireland,* and made her the daughter, wife, and mother of heroes, has rendered her something more than merely interesting; has shed around her ✓ person and memory that lustre which best becomes a woman—the lustre reflected from the glory and the virtues of her husband. The father of the Earl of Ossory was James, the great Duke of Ormond; and never upon conqueror or potentate was that epithet more justly bestowed: he was, without exception, the most illustrious character of the times in which he lived; without reproach as a man, a subject, a patriot, and a soldier.—He had attached himself from principle, to the cause of Charles the * And more immediately with those of Butler, Hamilton, Stewart, Beaufort, Chesterfield, Devonshire, Derby, Clancarty and Clanricarde, &c. Lady Ossory’s marriage was partly the means of raising others of her family to English alliances and English honours ; her youngest sister, Charlotte de Nassau, married the Earl of Arlington, and was motlier to the first Duchess of Grafton j her youngest brother, Henry de Nassau d’Auverquaiuiue, was created Earl of Grantham. 70 THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. first, and through the whole of the civil wars had maintained his cause with the most unshaken constancy, and the most generous self-devotion. After having expended his patrimony in the service of that monarch and his successor, and finding that all was lost, except honour, he refused the conditions offered by Cromwell, and, making his escape in a small boat, joined the fortunes of the exiled monarch, and was afterwards in his prosperity, as in his adversity, his ablest counsellor, and truest friend—never his flatterer or his favourite.* The Duchess of Ormond his wife, and the mother of Lord Ossory, was a woman of great beauty, and of an undaunted spirit. She was the heiress of the Earl of Desmond, and her union with the Duke, then Lord Thurles, put an end to the feuds and lawsuits which had for years divided the houses of Desmond and Ormond, and threatened the ruin of both. Their marriage, however, was not only a marriage of policy, but of passion ; their early attach¬ ment was attended by various difficulties and romantic distresses, and in particular by one circumstance, which throws so deep an interest round the character of the Duchess, that I venture to relate it. She was a ward of the King (Charles I.), who bestowed the guardianship of her person and her vast estates on the Earl of Holland. While the lawsuit was pend¬ ing between her and Lord Thurles, she happened to meet her young adversary at court, and struck with his noble qualities and fine person, fell in love with him ; she was young, inexperienced, and as self-willed as a conscious beauty and a great heiress may be supposed to have been, and took so little care to conceal the partiality she felt, that not only the object of her affection, but the whole court, was aware of it. The King sent to Lord Thurles, desiring that he would desist from any pretensions to the hand of the young lady, as his Majesty designed her for another. To this the lover replied with a spirit which justified the lady’s choice, that he should be sorry to displease his Majesty, but that he considered he had even a better title than any other nobleman about the court to pay the Lady Elizabeth those attentions which were due to her beauty and merits, being himself her “ poor cousin and * As the loyalty of Ormond was that of principle, the favour or displeasure of his capricious master never made the slightest alteration in his demeanour, so that his courteous equanimity some¬ times abashed the King. The Duke of Buckingham on one occasion whispered, “ 1 wish your Majesty would resolve me one question, whether it be the Duke of Ormond who is out of favour with your Majesty, or your Majesty with the Duke of Ormond ? for you appear the most out of countenance of the two !” THK COUNTESS OF OSSORY. 71 kinsman.” The Lady Elizabeth, on her part, was not slow to declare her abhorrence of the match proposed by the King, and her determination to marry Lord Thurles, and none other. The union was in all respects the most eligible for both; no other means could be found to put an end to their family dissensions, and Lady Elizabeth strongly felt, and as eloquently pleaded that reason and interest were on the side of her girlish passion: but the King was resolute ; her guardian, according to the fashion of obdurate guar¬ dians from time immemorial, placed the young lady in durance vile, and not only those consequences ensued which are de rigueur in such cases, but others which certainly were not anticipated by any of the parties concerned. The young lovers kept up a constant correspondence of letters and tokens, by means of Lady Isabella Rich, the daughter of the Earl of Holland, who not being so strictly secluded as her father’s ward, contrived to meet Lord Thurles secretly. Lady Isabella was handsome, lively, good-natured, and attached to Lady Elizabeth, with whom she had been educated; but she was not of an age or a disposition to carry on this clandestine intercourse with safety to herself. In short—not to be too circumstantial—Lady Isabella found her friend’s lover only too agreeable ; she fell a victim to passion and op¬ portunity, but certainly not to any preconcerted villany on the part of Lord Thurles, who was then only nineteen; the whole tenor of his life before and after, belies such an imputation. The consequences were, that Lady Isabella became the mother of an infant, which was immediately sent abroad and carefully educated at Paris, without any knowledge of his parents. The secret was so faithfully kept that not even a breath of suspicion rested upon Lady Isabella ; and soon afterwards. Lord Thurles, by bribing the avarice of Lord Holland,* obtained his consent and his interest with the King, and married Lady Elizabeth. Several years afterwards, when the Duke visited Paris, his first care was to inquire for this son, whom he found a blooming and hopeful youth, accom¬ plished in all the exercises which became his age: the father could not deny himself the pleasure of sending the unhappy mother some tidings of her child ; but having occasion to write to his wife the same day, he made a fatal mistake in the direction of the two letters, and that which was intended for Lady Isabella fell into the hands of the Duchess of Ormond. He bouglit the Earl’s consent with 15,000/. K 2 72 THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. The Duchess passionately loved her husband ; and notwithstanding the lapse of years, she must have felt on this occasion, as a woman would naturally feel on discovering that she had been betrayed in the tenderest point by her lover and her friend. She was still sitting with the letter open in her hand, lost in painful astonishment, when Lady Isabella was announced ; an exchange of letters and a mutual explanation took place, and the scene which must have ensued may be imagined.—Lady Isabella standing before her injured friend, bowed down to the earth with “penetrative shame,” while that generous friend, unable to bear the sight of her humiliation, threw her arms round her neck, and with tears and a thousand fond caresses, endeavoured to reconcile her with herself, assured her of her perfect forgiveness, and promised that the past should be to her as if it had never been. And she kept her word; for it is even said—and if true, it is a rare instance of female discretion,—that not even the Duke ever suspected his wife’s know¬ ledge of this transaction. It happened, after the time of which we speak, that Lady Isabella and her family being obliged to fly from England, the Duchess of Ormond offered her an asylum in her house at Caen ; and Lady Isabella, worthy in this instance of such a friend, accepted the offer as frankly as it was made. She resided for two years under the roof of the Duke and Duchess of Ormond in all honour and confidence. The Duchess never condescended to doubt either the truth and love of her husband, or the honour and gratitude of her friend ;—her domestic peace was never disturbed by petty jealousy, nor her noble confidence wronged by those she had trusted. It is justice to Lady Isabella to add, that she preserved to the end of her life an unblemished reputation, and died unmarried. * To return to the Earl of Ossory. When the Duke of Ormond with¬ drew to France, in 1655, he found himself obliged to leave his wife and family behind ; and soon afterwards Cromwell caused the Earl of Ossory to be arrested upon no specific charge and committed to the Tower. His mother waited upon the Protector to remonstrate, and to solicit his enlarge¬ ment, pleading the quiet and inoffensive life which she led with her chil- * Her son died young before the restoration. These particulars, which were not known till after the death of the Duke, may be found in Carte’s Life of Ormond, vol. 3. folio. THE COUNTESS OF OSSOllY. 73 dren in London. Cromwell told her plainly, that he had more reason to fear her than any body else. She replied with dignity and spirit, and in the presence of a numerous drawing-room, that “ she desired no favour at his hands, but merely justice to her innocent son —and that “.she thought it strange that she, who had never been concerned in a plot in her life, nor opened her mouth against his pei’son and government, should be represented as so terrible a person.” “ No, Madam !” replied Cromwell, “ that is not the case; but your worth has gained you so great an influence over all the Commanders of our party, and we know so well your power over your own party, that it is in your Ladyship’s breast to act what you please.” She answered, “ that she must needs construe this speech into n civil complimentbut a compliment and a shrug were all she could get from the politic Protector, till Ossory fell dangerously ill. She then solicited for him with such vehemence, that Crom¬ well at length set him at liberty ; and the Earl, attended by his brother. Lord Richard, disguised as his servant, escaped to the Hague. He was received there wdth high honour by his father’s friends, and in particular by M. de Beveiwveert, who entertained the English Royalists with great hospitality. In her father’s house. Lord Ossory had frequent and almost daily opportunities of seeing and conversing with the Lady Emilie: the more he saw and knew of her, the more he admired, and at length loved, with all the enthusiasm of his character ; and he assured his father that “ the happiness of his life depended on passing it with her.” At this time, the Earl of Ossory was about four-and-tsventy ; he was tall, well-made, and handsome; with an open expressive countenance, and fine teeth and hair ; he rode, fenced, and danced remarkably well; played on the lute and the guitar; spoke French eloquently, and Italian fluently; was a good historian ; and seems to have had a taste for light and elegant literature, for Sir Robert Southwell represents him as so well read in poetry and romance, that “ in a gallery full of pictures and hangings, he could tell the stories of all that were there described.” These however were the mere super¬ ficial graces which enabled him to please in a drawing-room, and to these he added all the rare and noble qualities which can distinguish a man in the cabinet and in the field. He was wise in counsel, quick and decided in action, as brave in battle as an Amadis of Gaul—gallant “ beyond the fiction of Romance”—humane, courteous, affable, temperate, generous to profusion, and open almost to a fault. “ In a word,” says the historian, “ his virtue was unspotted in the centre of a luxurious court; his integrity unblemished 74 THK COUNTESS OF OSSORY. amid all the vices of the times; his honour untainted through the course of his whole life:” and it is most worthy of remark, that in those days, when the spirits of men were heated with party rage ; when profligate pens were wielded by profligate and obscure individuals, and satire “ unbated and envenomed,” was levelled at whatever was noble, or beautiful, or good in the land; not a single expression can any Avhere be traced to contradict or invalidate this universal testimony. “ No writer,” (I quote again from history,) “ ever appeared then or since, so I’egardless of truth and of his own character, as to venture one stroke of censure on that of the Earl of Ossory.” * Such a man might have pretended to the hand of any woman upon earth ; and no woman—though she had been a throned and sceptred queen, in beau¬ ties, virtues, graces, friends, exceeding all account, and dowered with king¬ doms, but would have been honoured in his choice. If, therefore, some diffi¬ culties attended his marriage, it will easily be believed that they arose not on the part of the lady of his love. The Duke of Ormond had commenced a treaty of marriage for his son with a daughter of Lord Southampton, f which he broke off with regret, for her portion was double that of the lady Emilie : and fortune was at this time an object in the Ormond family, reduced as they were by exile, confiscation, and losses of every kind. M. de Beverweert would give his daughter no more than 10,000/.; and he insisted on his future son-in-law being put into immedi¬ ate possession of 1200/. a year; a large income in those days, but which would have been a mere trifle when the family were in power and prosperity. The Duchess of Ormond was put to great difficulties, the condition of her estate in Ireland scarce allowing her to part with so large a portion of it, “ but she could deny nothing to her beloved son.” j; The Duke, who looked upon this alliance as a means of strengthening his interest with De Witt, gave his con¬ sent, and the marriage was celebrated at the Hague, November 17, 1659. The following year, the King’s restoi’ation took place, and Ossory brought his young and beautiful bride in triumph to England. * Kippis Biog. Brit. vol. iii. p. 84. Collins.—Carte’s Life of Ormond, vol. 3, and Sir Robert Southwell’s Ireland. f Afterwards Lady Russel. The Ladv Russel, whose very name sanctifies the paper upon which it is written. It is, however, no imputation upon Lord Ossory’s taste that he preferred the Lady he knew and loved, to the Lady he had never seen, and whose character had not yet been deve- lojjed by those trials, out of which she arose an angel upon earth. I Verbatim from Carte, vol. 3. THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. 75 It does not appear that Lady Ossory was remarkable for her wit, but she had excellent sense, an affectionate heart, and the sweetest temper in nature. * Her husband might have said of her, as Shakspeare so beautifully says of his mistress : Fair, kind, and true is all ray argument; Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind. Still constant in a wondrous excellence.f The power she obtained and preserved in her husband’s noble heart, is no slight argument of her superior understanding; in that age of universal gal¬ lantry, Lord Ossory dared to be faithful to his wife; and there lived not the man who would have dared to banter him upon the subject. The only fashion¬ able folly he was known to indulge in, was gaming; he sometimes played high—an imprudence into which his habits, as a courtier, necessarily led him. After having lost deeply, he would return home, thoughtful and moody, and when his wife tenderly enquired the cause, and he would tell her that he was “ vexed with himself for playing the fool, and gaming, and had lost, perhaps, a thousand poundsshe would still desire him “ not to be troubled, for she would find means to save it at home.” “ She was, indeed,” (adds the grave historian of the family,) “ an admirable economist; always cheerful, and never known to be out of humour, so that they lived together in the most perfect harmony imaginable. Lord Ossory never found any place or company more agreeable than he found at home ; and when he returned thither from Court, they constantly met with open arms, with kind embraces, and the most moving expressions of mutual tenderness.” J But this picture, bright and beautiful as it is, had its shades. In this world of ours “ where but to think, is to be full of sorrow,” Lady Ossory was so far most happy, that though she suffered through those she loved, (as all must do who embark their happiness in their affections,) she never suffered by them: but she lost several of her numerous family at an early age, and the frequent absence of Lord Ossory, whilst engaged in the highest civil and military em¬ ployments, must have doomed her to many widowed hours. The reckless valour too, with which he exposed his life, and which was such as even to call down a rebuke from his brave father, must have filled the gentle bosom of his * Carte, vol. 3. -t Sonnet 105. J Carte’s Life of Ormond, vol. 3. 76 THE COUNTESS OE OSSORY. wife with a thousand fond anxieties: yet might not those partings and meet- ings, those alternations of hope and fear, those trembling terrors for his safety, those rapturous tears which greeted his return, have assisted to keep freshly alive, through a long series of years, all the romance of early passion ? And was not this much ? Did Lady Ossory buy too dearly the proud happiness of belonging to that man, upon whom the eyes of all Europe were fixed to gaze and to admire; who from every new triumph brought her home a faith and love unchanged—deposing his honours at her feet, and his cares in her gentle arms ? Let the woman who reads this question, answer it to her own heart. An idea may be formed of Lady Ossory’s life and feelings, by a rapid glance over her husband’s brilliant career. He was twice Lord Deputy in Ireland : twice an Ambassador: there was no considerable action fought by sea or land, during the reign of Charles II. in which he did not distinguish himself; he was at the same time a general in the army, and Rear Admiral of the Red ; and in 1673, he hoisted the Union Flag as Commander-in-Chief of the whole Fleet, in the absence of Prince Rupert. During the Dutch war, the principle and policy of which he entirely disapproved,* he nevertheless served with heroic valour, if not with enthusiasm ; and he would have destroyed the whole Heet of Holland, if the timidity of the King’s Council had not defeated his scheme.f He was Commander-in-Chief in Ireland, a Knight of the Garter, and a Privy Counsellor, Lord of the King’s Red Chamber, and Lord Cham¬ berlain to the Queen. He lived, when in London, with such munificent hos¬ pitality, that it must have required all Lady Ossory’s skill as an economist, to manage their household. He was remarkable for seeking out all the foi'eigners of any distinction or merit who visited England, and was fond of entertaining them at his table. J To this, perhaps, he partly owed his widely extended reputation on the Continent. When he was Envoy Extraordinary in France, in 1667, Louis XIV. endeavoured to prevail upon him to enter into his ser¬ vice. He offered him personally, and through his ministers, the most mag¬ nificent appointments, and when these were refused, he was desired only to * See his famous speech in defence of his father against Loid Sliaftesbury. t It is not now understood wliy this plan, which was allowed to be simple and feasible, though requiring great courage to execute, was not acceded to ; when some of the Counsel objected, Ossory told the King, “ That he would blow up the whole Dutch Fleet with a farthing candle, or have his head set upon Westminster Hall beside Cromwell’s.” I Dryden describes the house of Ormond as one “ open as that of Publicola, where all were equally admitted, where nothing that was reasonable was denied, where misfortune was a powerful recommendation ; and where want itself was a powerftil mediator, and stood next to merit.” THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. 77 name what Avould content him for himself and his friends? finding all in vain, the King, at his departure, loaded him with favours, and presented him with a jewel worth 2000/. It was not alone the dangers of battle that Lady Ossory had to fear for her husband ; his chivalrous honour and the vehemence of his character sometimes periled his life in more private encounter's. His memorable quarrel with the Duke of Buckingham is well known. The Duke had asserted in the House of Lords, that “ whoever opposed the Bill then under discussion” (the Irish Cattle Bill) “ had either an Irish interest, or an Irish understanding.” Ossory called on the Duke to retract his words, which he considered as an insolent reflection on his country, or meet him with his sword in his hand to maintain them. The whole affair, in which Ossoiy behaved with so much fi’ankness and gallantry, and in which the Duke cut such a pitiful, or rather such an in¬ famous figui'e, may be found at length in Clarendon. In 1671, occurred that extraordinary attempt on the life of the Duke of Ormond by the ruffian Blood, of notorious memory; it is supposed at the in¬ stigation of Buckingham. There was, in fact, something so audacious and so theatrical in the idea of hanging the Duke upon the gallows at Tyburn, that it could only have originated with that “ Fanfaron de crimes.” Such, at least, was the general opinion at the time. A few days after this event, Lord Ossory meet¬ ing the Duke of Buckingham in the King’s chamber, the colour flushed to his temples with passion, and his eyes sparkled with such ire, that the Duke took refuge behind the King’s chair. “ My Lord,” said Ossory, stepping up to him, “ I know well that you are at the bottom of this late attempt of Blood’s upon my father, and therefore I give you fair warning, if my father comes to a violent end by sword or pistol,—if he dies by the hand of a ruffian, or the more secret way of poison, I shall not be at a loss to know the first author of it; I shall consider you as the assassin ; I shall treat you as such, and I shall pistol you, though you stood beside the King’s chair; and I tell it you in his Majesty’s presence, that you may be sure I shall keep my word.” So saying, he turned upon his heel, leaving the Duke so completely overawed, that he had not even spirit to utter a denial.* * I believe no writer has remarked the singular coincidence between the characters and fortunes of the Duke of Ormond, and his ancestor, the Earl of Ormond, of Elizabeth’s time. Both were brave, L 78 THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. But it is time to stop ; the imagination lingers over the subject, unwilling to approach the catastrophe. To complete the glorious picture, such a spirit should have passed away from the earth as unstained by grief as by fear— unembittered, unbroken to the last,—and it was far otherwise. In 1680, the Earl, leaving Lady Ossory at the seat of her daughter. Lady Derby, came to London to prepare for his departure on a new expedition. He had been appointed governor of Tangier, but with forces so inadequate, that he con¬ sidered himself cast away, “ not only on a hazardous adventure, but an impos¬ sibility.”* “This,” says Evelyn, “touched my Lord deeply, that he should be so little consider’d as to put him on a businesse in which he should probably not only lose his reputation, but be charged with all the miscar¬ riages and ill-successe. My Lord being an exceeding brave and valiant person, and who had so approved himself in divers signal batailes, both at sea and land ; so beloved and so esteem’d by the people, as one they depended upon in all occasions worthy of such a captain ; he looked on this as too great an indifference in his Majesty, after all his services and the merits of his father, the Duke of Ormond, and a designe of some who envied his virtue. It cer¬ tainly tooke so deepe roote in his mind, that he who was the most void of feare in the world (and assur’d me he would go to Tangier with ten men if his Majesty commanded him) could not beare up against this unkindness.” The extreme heat of the weather, the fatigue he underwent in making his preparations, and the deep sense of the injury he had received, which seems to have struck upon his heart, threw him into a delirious fever : the last coherent popular, entluisiastically loyal, and inflexibly honest; both were accomplished courtiers, and lived to experience the ingratitude and injustice of the Princes they had served ; both experienced many changes of fortune, and lived to an extreme old age, so as to behold their heirs in the third generation. Both were opposed to the reigning favourites, tor the enmity of the Duke of Ormond and Buckingham was at least equal to that of the Earl of Ormond and Lord Leicester. As Buckingham was believed to have instigated Blood in his attempt on the Duke of Ormond, so Leicester was known to have attempted the assassination of Ormond, by means of a hired cut-throat, who was afterwards, like Blood, forgiven and rewarded. The following anecdote is very characteristic —The Earl of Ormond com¬ ing one day to Court, met Lord Leicester in the antechamber: after the usual salutations, “ My Lord,’’ said Leicester, insolently ; “ I dreamed of you last night !” “ Indeed !” replied Ormond, “ what could your Lordship dream of me ?’’ “ I dreamed that I gave you a box on the ear.” “ Dreams are interpreted by contraries,” replied the high spirited Irishman, and instantly lent him a “ cuff on the ear, which made the favourite stagger;” for this he was committed to the 'Power by Elizabeth. * Lord Sunderland said in council, that “ Tangier must necessarily be lost, but that it was fit J.ord Ossory should be sent that they might give some account of it to the world.’’—Evelyn’s Memoirs. THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. 79 words he spoke, were to name his wife, and recommend her and her children to his father’s care.* He died at the house of his brother-in-law, Lord Arling¬ ton, four days afterwards, in his forty-sixth year : leaving behind him a character which poetry cannot embellish, nor flattery exaggerate. Even the muse of Dryden cowered when he approached the theme; after reading the life of Lord Ossory in plain and not very elegant prose, his poetical pane¬ gyric appears cold and strained.t The reply of the Duke of Ormond to some impertinent comforter is well known, and is the most comprehensive and affecting eulogy ever pronounced:—“I would not exchange my dead son for any living son in Christendom !” J Lord Ossory died before his unhappy wife could even hear of his illness. She did not, upon her bereavement, break out into any tumultuous sorrow ; she bowed her head to the stroke with apparent resignation, and never raised it again. She survived her husband little more than three years, and dying in January, 1684, was buried in Christ Church. r The Countess of Ossory was the mother of twelve children, of whom, two sons and three daughters survived her. * “ My son’s kindness to his wife, and his care of her, increases my value for him, and my sorrow for him, and I am glad he expressed it so frequently, when he thought of that sad hour which is come upon us ; but there was no other need of it than the manifestation of his good-nature, for I am ready to do for her, whatever she or her friends can wish.”—Letter of the Duke of Ormond to Lord Arlington. -t Dryden was a practised hand at an elegy and a panegyric, and in the present instance he was more in earnest than usual; but turn from his tuneful couplets to the simple entry which Evelyn has made in his Diary of the “ death of his noble and illustrious friend, the Lord Ossorie .’’—“ His Majesty never lost a worthier subject, nor father a better or more dutiful son ; a loving, generous, good-natured, and perfectly obliging friend ; one who had done innumerable kindnesses to several before they knew it, nor did he ever advance any that were not worthy ; no one more brave, more modest: none more humble, sober, and every way virtuous. Unhappy England in this illustrious person’s loss ! Universal was the mourning for him, and the eulogies on him ; I staid night and day by his bed side to his last gasp, to close his dear eyes ! O sad father, mother, wife, and children ! What shall I add ? he deserved all that a sincere friend, a brave soldier, a virtuous courtier, a loyal subject, an honest man, a bountiful master, and a good Christian could deserve of his prince and country.” Evelyn’s Memoirs, Vol. i. p. 490. J In the private desk of the Duke was found a Prayer upon the occasion of his son’s death, in which the old man implores that “ this dispensation might melt, not break his heart.” L 2 80 THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. Her eldest son, James, succeeded his grandfather as Duke of Ormond, in 1688. He inherited the virtues, talents, and splendid fortunes of his princely race. He was twice Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, which he governed with more affection from the people, and kept his C’ourt in greater splendour than ever was known in that kingdom. He was twice Captain-General and Coimnander-in-Chief of the land forces of Great Britain, a Knight of the Garter, and Lord Constable of England at the Coronation of William the Third. But in 1715, he was impeached in the House of Commons by a fac¬ tious party, and in a moment of pique and disdain he refused to wait his trial, retired to France, and joined the party of the Pretender; he w'as of course attainted, his estate declared forfeit, and his honours extinguished ! Having thus rashly decided, he did not, like his friend Bolingbroke, restore himself to favour by betraying the cause he had embraced ; he died at Avignon, (where he had for some time subsisted on a pension from the King of Spain,) leaving no issue. To this Duke of Ormond, Dryden has dedicated his Fables, and to his Duchess, (a daughter of the Duke of Beaufort,) is addressed the beautiful introduction to the Tale of Palamon and Arcite. Lady Ossory’s second son. Lord Charles Butler, was created Earl of Arran on the death of his uncle Richard. He married a daughter of Lord Crewe, and dying in 1758, the title became extinct: he was the last male representative of this branch of the family. Of the three daughters, the eldest. Lady Elizabeth, married William, ninth Earl of Derby. Lady Emelia died unmarried, at the age of one hun¬ dred, having lived through six reigns; and Lady Henrietta was united to her cousin, Henry de Nassau, Earl of Grantham. The portrait, never before engraved, is after the picture by* Wissing, in the Beauty Room at Windsor; the dress is a crimson bodice, not very becoming, with a veil shading the hair; the arms and hands are ill drawn, but the face is beautiful, the features small and delicate, with just that charm¬ ing expression of modesty and innocence, which the fancy would love to as¬ cribe to the wife of Ossory. FairUed by Sir Fster lefy. Fn^raved by T.Wri^TU:. PubU' ^-d Ay do/J u-yi d AWza'/v. A/a\ d.Jh.i/. r • • V •. i ■ - ' V. p-.* •t • V 1 • ' ■* -5i, ■%-. » .S ■ .' .;W\*s ‘ . * i ■*- ’ . •• ' ^ .j • > . , >•' f' .- -•% • /c y. i , • i • ‘ ^ 'V t' ^ ■' • •« y V ^ ■ »:.•"• *■ Ib I ■ J- \ •J \ i \ ' 4 * ' * ,f > LADY DENHAM. For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds — Lilies that fester, smell far worse thau weeds ! Shakspeahe. This beautiful woman is interesting from tlie poetical fame of her hus¬ band, and her own tragical and mysterious fate; but she presents in all respects, a lamentable contrast to the gentle and blameless Lady Ossory. Lady Denham was the eldest of two sisters, daughters of Sir William Brooke, K.B., and nieces of Digby, Earl of Bristol.* Both were beautiful and lively ; or as De Grammont expresses it, faites pour dotmer de Vamour et pour en prendre and their profligate uncle, who was at this time intri¬ guing against the influence of Lady Castlemaine, introduced them at Court, in the hope that one or both would captivate the heart of the versatile Charles. How far these young girls, and both were then very young, lent themselves to this project, or were acquainted with his purposes, is not clear : but Lady Castlemaine interfered in good time to prevent the accomplishment of the Earl’s hopes; and the King, who had just purchased a peace at the usual hard price, was not inclined to endanger it for the sake of Miss Brooke. She next attracted the notice of the Duke of York ; but in the midst of this flirtation, she was married by the interposition of her friends, at the age of eighteen, to Sir John Denham,*!' then a widower, and old enough to be her father, or her grandfather; and who seemed determined to avenge * Francef? Brooke, the younger sister of Lady Denham, manied Sir Thomas Whitmore, K.B. ancestor of the Whitmores of Shropshire. f Sir John Denham was born in Dublin (where his father held the high otBce of Chief Baron of the Exchequer, in Ireland,) in 11)15. He attached himself devotedly to the royal cause, and was on the restoration knighted, and appointed Surveyor of the Buildings to the King, Sir Christopher Wren as his deputy. This was the more necessary, as according to Evelyn, Sir John was a better poet than an architect. A great part of the family estates situated at Egham and its neighbourhood were wasted by Denham at the gaming-table ; the rest were confiscated during the civil wars. His reputation as a poet rests upon his “ Cooper’s Hill.” Sir John left three children by his first wife, who was a .Miss Cotton. 83 LADY DENHAM. in his own person all the satirical tirades and the poignant ridicule with which he had formerly visited faithless wives and betrayed husbands. Denham had led a dissipated life, and his age was neither pleasing nor respectable; although hardly more than fifty, he is described at the period of his mar¬ riage as “ ancient and limping,”* and was ill calculated either to captivate or to rule a young and wilful beauty. This disproportioned union covered him with ridicule: his beautiful wife became at once the object of open assiduities, and himself almost frantic with jealousy. The Duke of York, who had rather neglected Miss Brooke before her marriage, renewed his attentions. The Lady was not disposed to be absolutely cruel, but she was in disposition haughty, and inclined to coquetry; she gave herself airs accordingly, and the Duke, who was the most stupid and ungainly of lovers, contrived to render himself, on the present occasion, supereminently ridiculous: Pepys describes him as following her up and down the presence- chamber, “ like a dog.” It is consistent with the character of James and his family, historically branded with the reproach of systematic ingrati¬ tude, that no remorseful or generous feeling seems to have restrained him in this pursuit, although he was under particular personal obligations to Denham, which nothing could cancel: during the civil wars, when the Prince was a mere boy, and in imminent danger of his liberty, or his life, Denham had conveyed him out of England at his own personal risk, and placed him in the hands of the Queen at Paris. As for Lady Denham, she had declared with an effrontery worthy of the education she had received in the house of her uncle, that she would not be a “ mistress to go up and down the privy stairs, but would be owned publiclyand the Duke accordingly visited her publicly and in state, attended by all the gentlemen of his household. This, however, was not enough to satisfy our perverse and arrogant beauty. Brounker, whose name is handed down to us as the most famous chess-player of his time, filled in the household of the Duke the same honour¬ able office which Tom Chiffinch held in that of the King, his brother; and he made himself extremely useful in this negociation. Lady Castlemaine, who had lost the power of blushing for any thing, did not blush to be his coadju¬ tor : thus surrounded by tempters, and the worst of tempters, those of her own sex. Lady Denham was determined, that since the fates had decreed her fall, it should at least be surrounded with all possible eclat. * Aubrey’s Letters. De Grammont says he was seventy-nine when he married Miss Broolses; he piobably looked much older than he really was. LADY DENHAM. 83 The place of Lad}^ of the Bedchamber to the Duchess of York being vacant, Lady Denham demanded it of the Duke; the Duke had the assurance to insist that it should be given to her. The Duchess, though in general sub¬ missive to his will, and accustomed to his infidelities, resisted on this occasion, well knowing that the high spirit and uncommon talents of Lady Denham exposed her to the chance of playing a very secondary personage in her own court: she had the example of Queen Catherine before her as a warning; and the Duke had that of his brother as an encouragement, and he was equall}^ peremptory. Everywhere Sir John Denham was beset by malicious congratu¬ lations on his wife’s elevation, so that he would have hung himself in despite and despair, but that he had too much wit and too little courage. The matter was still in discussion, when Lady Denham was seized with a sudden indisposition, of which, after languishing some days, she expired, January 7th, 1667, in the full bloom of her youth and beauty, and before she had completed her twenty-first year. It was believed at the time that she had been poisoned in a cup of chocolate,* and her death was so sudden, it took place so critically, and was accompanied by such agonizing symptoms, that there was some ground for the belief; Lady Denham herself ceased not to aver, with tears, that she had been poisoned. Her husband was so strongly suspected, that for some days afterwards his house in Scotland-Yard was surrounded by an enraged populace, who threatened to stone him on his appearance. Others did not scruple to accuse the Duchess of Y^ork of being privy to this horrible affair, and an infamous libel to that effect was posted on her door; but there is not the slightest ground for believing in the accusation. Sir John Denham is not so easily acquitted ; it is remarkable that he became insane immediately after his wife’s death, and continued so for several months.'f- This insanity might, however, have been caused by terror, or by indignation and grief, and not by remorse, as it was insinuated. The , matter was at the time hushed up with all convenient speed, and the horrible fate by which this unhappy woman expiated her errors remains a mystery. Sir John Denham died in 1668, about a year after his wife; he had com- * Aubrey, who lived at the time, asserts the fact witliout any circumlocution. Pepys says that the universal belief was, that Lady Denham was poisoned, and that the physicians would assemble the day after her death, to examine into the symptoms and causes of her decease ; which examination never took place. -)■ Injustice to Denham, it sliould be obsei-ved, that Butler, in his bitter and outrageous satire entitled “ Verses on the Recovery of Sir John Denham from his late Madness,’’ makes no allusion to the death of Lady Denham. 84 LADY DENHAM. pletelj recovered from his insanity some months before his death, and in the interval, wrote his poem on the death of Cowley. Except the portraits of Miss Hamilton and Lady Bellasys, there is not one among the Beauties at Windsor, that can be compared to this picture of Lady Denham, either for delicacy of execution, or splendour of colouring: she is represented seated on a bank, with flowers in her lap, dressed in rich amber-coloured satin : the neck, bosom, hands and arms, are beautiful ; the face is not genei-ally considered as attractive, yet the features, which are too large and striking for a delicate beauty, have a singular expression which rivets the attention; blending capacity, pride, and the capability of strong passions. Her complexion is fair, but glowing and fresh like a full-blown flower: her hair of a lovely brown. The whole disposition of the picture, and the mag¬ nificent colouring of the drapery and the background, have never been sur¬ passed by Lely, even in his most celebrated works. It is now engraved for the first time. i .« hy Stricter. Lr^-. Eyiffravfd l/v 77io*li^riff?it. jVemi^er £Ud ifi/u imp^fdui 'cy^AraS^I^ar^^ury and/of ^rmcf'. J^zz/j/L’^/irf/ fy 2?. j^..'1'/!//2/fy DfrunJjfr.Jdzy t. • 86 NELL GWYNN. to boot, she will not the less continue to be the idol of popular tradition; her very name provocative of a smile, and of power to disarm the austerity of virtue, and discountenance the gravity of wisdom. It is worth while to inquii-e in what consists that strange fascination, which, after the lapse of a century and a half, still hangs round the memory of this singular woman. Why is her name still familiar and dear in the mouths of the people ? * why hath no man condemned her ? why has satire spared her ? why is there in her remembrance a Qharm so far beyond, and so different from mere celebrity ? Other women have become famous and interesting in spite of their lapses from virtue, and some from that very cause. Rosamond Clifford is the heroine of romance; Agnes Sorel, of history and chivalry; Jane Shore, of tragedy; La Valliere, of sentiment and poetry; and Gabrielle d’Estrees has been immortalized by the love of a hero, to whom she was most faithless, and of whom she was most unworthy. But Nell Gwynn—Heaven knows—had little to do with romance, or tragedyor chivalry, or sentiment: and her connexion with the King, with all the scandal it gave rise to, would have made her, as in other cases, a mark for popular hatred and scurrility, but for those redeeming qualities which “turned dispraise to praise,” and made “ Both faults and graces loved of more and less.” A sprinkling of hypocrisy, or a few cooling drops of discretion, had rendered Nell Gwynn either far better or far worse, and placed her on a par with the women round her ; as it was, she resembled nothing but herself. She may, per¬ haps, be compared, in some few points, with her fair and famed contemporary, Ninon de I’Enclos. Both had talents, wit, vivacity, and much goodness of heart; both were distinguished for the sincerity and permanency of their friend¬ ships, their extensive charity and munificence to literary men ; what Ninon was to Racine and Moli^re, Nell was to Dryden and Lee. But there is this difference, that Ninon, with all her advantages of birth, talents, independent fortune, and an education, not only soigne, but learned, became from choice, or perverted principle, what Nell, poor, uneducated, and unprotected, became from necessity or accident. * The head of Nell Gwynn was a popular sign in her own days and long after, and is still to be seen over an old ale-house in Chelsea. Signs are seldom other than acknowledgments of a general good-will in the public for the thing or person signified.—C. L. t Except on the stage—and then she was “ out of her calling.” NELL GWYNN. 87 A woman, when she has once stepped astray, seldom pauses in her downward career, till “ guilt grows fate, that was but choice before,” and far more seldom rises out of that debasement of person and mind, except by some violent tran¬ sition of feeling, some revulsion of passion leading to the opposite extreme. In the case of Nell Gwynn, the contrary was remarkable. As years passed on, as habit grew, and temptation and opportunity increased, her conduct became more circumspect, and her character more elevated. The course of her life which had begun in the puddle and sink of obscurity and profligacy, as it flowed, refined. For the humorous and scandalous stories of which she is the subject, some excuse may be found in her plebeian education, and the coarse¬ ness of the age in which she lived : when ladies of quality gambled and swore, what could be expected from the orange-girl ? but though her language and manners bore to the last the taint of the tavern and the stage, her’s was one of those fine natures which could not be corrupted; the contaminating influence of the atmosphere around her had stained the surface, but never reached the core. These observations, which irresistibly suggested themselves, may seem mis¬ placed, and should rather have followed than preceded her life : but it is the character of Nell Gwynn, which lends an interest to her memoirs, though the reverse be more commonly the case. The events of her life may be related in a few words. It was marked by no romantic incidents, no signal reverses of fortune, no tragic expiation of error. It is quite impossible to make a heroine of her, in prose or in verse. The family of Nell Gwynn was of Welsh extraction, as may be inferred from the name : her parents were natives of Hereford, of which city one of her noble descendants was afterwards Bishop,* and where, according to a local tradition, she was herself born. Other authorities state that she first saw the light in a garret in Coal-yard, Drury-lane. However this may be, it is certain that her earliest years were spent in London, and in the very lowest haunts of vulgar profligacy. While yet a mere child, she was an attendant in a tavern, where the sweetness of her voice and her sprightly address recommended her to notice. She was afterwards, still in extreme youth, servant to a fruiterer, and in this capacity employed to sell oranges at the Theatres. Here her beauty and vivacity attracted the notice of Lacy * Lord Janies Beauclerk died Bishop of Hereford, in 1782. M 2 88 XELL GWVNX. the comedian, her first lover, who was soon rivalled in her good graces by Hart, the handsomest man and most accomplished actor of that day.* Under the successive tuition of these two admirers, both of whom were masters of their art, Nell Gwynn was prepared for the stage, for which she had a naimsA. penchant; and, in 1667, we find her enrolled in the King’s com¬ pany of comedians, who were then acting, under Killigrew’s patent, at the new theati'e in Drury-lane.+ Before the Restoration, no woman had appeared on the English stage, the female parts being all acted by men.]; The novelty and attraction of seeing beautiful women in such characters as Desdemona, Ophelia, Aspasia, &c. was undoubtedly one cause of that mania for theatrical amusements, which was one of the characteristics of the time. Nell Gwynn at once became popular in her new vocation. She was so great a favourite, that the public endured and even applauded her in characters for which her talents were altogether unfitted; as Valeria in the “Royal Martyr,” Alicia in the “ Black Prince,” and Cidaria in the “ Indian Emperor,” which her * Charles Hart was the great-nephew of Shakspeare, his father William being the eldest son of the poet’s sister Joan. Contemporary authors are full of eulogiums of this great actor, and allu¬ sions to his various excellencies.—See Dryden, Cibber, the Spectator, Fuller, and The Roscius Angli¬ can us. Rymer says, “ What Mr. Hart delivers, every one takes upon content ; their eyes are prepos¬ sessed and charmed by his action, before aught of the poet’s can approach their ears; and to the most wretched of characters he gives a lustre and brilliance which so dazzles the sight, that the deformities in the poetry cannot be perceived.”— Tragedies of the Last Age Considered. t There are the following entries in Pepys’s Diary,under the year 1G67, relative to Nell Gwynn ; “ To the King’s House ; Knipp took us all in, and brought to us Nelly, a most pretty woman, who acted the great part of Coelia to-day, very fine, and did it pretty well: 1 kissed her, and so did my wife ; and a mighty pretty soul she is.”—Vol. ii. p. 8. “ To the King’s House; and there going in, met with Knipp, and she took us up into the tire- ing-roonis; and to the woman’s shift, where Nell was dressing herself, and was all unready, and is very pretty, prettier than I thought. But, Lord ! to see how they are both painted, would make a man mad.”—Vol. ii. p. 135. “With my wife to the King’s Playhouse; and there saw ‘'fhe Surprizallwhich did not please me to-day, the actors not pleasing me; especially Nell’s acting of a serious part, which she spoils.”—Vol. ii. p. 171. + The name of the first female actress is a disputed point; it is only certain that the first part played by a woman was Desdemona ; the apologetic prologue delivered upon the occasion may be found in Malone’s “ History of the English Stage.” Before this time, it once happened that Charles II. being in the theatre, and expressing some impatience because the play did not imme¬ diately begin. Sir William D’Avenant came forward and apologized in the.se words ;—“ Please your Majesty, they are shaving the queen.” This oft-told jest does not seem to have been well under¬ stood by those who have repeated it. It had a double allusion, which made it AoMhly piquant; for it was just at the time that Queen Catherine’s Barber had arrived from Portugal, whose office caused much wonder and amusement among the courtiers. NELL GWYNN. 89 admirer Pepys allows that she played “ most basely she also appeared as Queen Elizabeth in the “ Earl of Essex.” Nell Gwynn in Queen Elizabeth must have been rare—something like Polonius “enacting Julius Caesar in the Capitol.” But on the other hand, she excelled in comedy, and in all parts in which dancing and singing were requisite. The character of Florimel in “ The Maiden Queen” appears to have been her chef-d’otuvre in this style. Her easy gracefulness of address, arch expression, and musical voice, rendered her unrivalled as a speaker of prologues and epilogues; several of Dryden’s best, and it is well known that he excelled in these productions, were written expressly for her. For instance, the prologue to “ Aurengzebe,” and the ludi¬ crous epilogue to “ Tyrannic Love,” in which, after stabbing herself most heroically in the part of Valeria, and the mutes appear in conclusion to carry off the dead, she gives the bearer a box on the ear, and jumps up, exclaiming— “ Hold ! are you mad ? you d—d confounded dog ! I am to rise and speak the epilogue !” In this epilogue, Dryden, who, with all his admiration for Nell G wynn, was aware of her unfitness for the part she acted, puts into her mouth a kind of confession of her own deficiencies: “ I am the ghost of poor departed Nelly ; * * * « * To tell you truth, I walk because I die Out of my calling —in a tragedy and the concluding lines contain an allusion to one of her personal character¬ istics,—the extreme negligence of her dress ; “ As for my epitaph, when I am gone, I '11 trust no poet, but will write my own : ‘ Here Nelly lies, who, tho’ she lived a slattern. Yet died a princess, acting in St. Catherine !’ ” The same year that Nell Gwynn first appeared on the stage, she attracted * “ To the King’s House, and there saw ‘ The Mad Couple which is but an ordinary play; but only Nell's and Hart's mad parts are most excellent done, but especially her's: which makes it a miracle to me to think how ill she do any serious part, as, the other day, just like a fool or change¬ ling ; and, in a mad part, do beyond all imitation almost.”—Vol. ii. p. 171. 90 NELI> GWYNN. the notice of the witty Lord Buckhurst, (afterwards the Earl of Dorset,) who took her from the theatre and allowed her 100/. a-year.* The absence, however, was not long: she returned to the stage in 1668, and appeared in her great character of Almahide, in Dryden’s “ Conquest of Granada.” In spite of what Pepys says of her acting serious parts vilely, (which was true, in general,) she produced a great effect in this character, as is evident from the extraordinary success of the play, and the allusion to her long afterwards, by Lord Lansdown, in his “ Progress of Beauty “ And Almahide, once more by Kings adored.’ The prologue to this tragedy was written for her by Dryden.-f- It seems that Nokes, the favourite buffoon of the rival theatre, (the Duke’s House,) had lately drawn crowds, by appearing in a huge bi'oad-brimmed hat, though where the jest lay it is impossible to guess. Dryden ridiculed this extrava¬ gance, by causing Nell to appear in a hat double the size, with brims as wide as a cart-wheel: her slight short figure, just visible under this vast over-hang¬ ing circumference, and the archness with which she delivered the satirical ad¬ dress, were irresistibly droll, and produced all the effect expected; and much more, if the tradition be true, that it was in this grotesque costume Nell first captivated her Royal lover : but there is reason to doubt it.J All that can be ascertained is, that from this time the King openly distinguished her, and after the first performance went behind the scenes, and took her away in his car- » Pepys, vol. ii. p. 92, 4to. edit.—“ Mr. Pierce tells us, what troubles me, that my Lord Buck¬ hurst has got Nell away from theKiug’s House, and gives her lOOL a-year, so as she hath sent her parts to the house, and will act no more.” And the following entry a few days after. “ To Epsum, and hear that my Lord Buckhurst and Nelly are lodged at the next house, and Sir Charles Sedley with them ; and keep a merry house. Poor girl 1 I pity her; but more the loss of her at the King’s house.” ‘‘ I'o the King’s playhouse, and there saw ‘ ’Ihe Indian Emperour:’ where I find Nell come again, which I am glad of; but w as most infinitely displeased with her being put to act theEinperour’s daughter, which is a great and serious part, which she does most basely.”—Vol. ii. p. 112. “Nelly and Beck Marshall falling out the other day, the latter called the other my Lord Buckhurst’s mistress. Nell answered her, ‘ 1 am but one man’s mistress, though 1 was brought up in a tavern to fill strong waters to gentlemen; and you are mistress to three or four, though a Presbyter’s pray¬ ing daughter !’ ”—Vol. ii. p. 149. t See his works for this Prologue “To be spoken by Mistress Ellen Gwynn, in a broad-brimmed hat and waist belt.”— Scott’s edition of Dryden, Vol. iii. J See Pepys’s Diary, vol. ii. p. 179. NELL CxWYNN. 96 riage to sup with him. Soon after, Lord Buckhurst resigned her for the con¬ sideration of an earldom and a pension.* After this elevation (as the contemporary writers express it, and no doubt, very sincerely thought it,) we find Nelly dignified in the play-bills with the title of “ Madam Ellen,” by which name she was popularly known. She ap¬ peared on the stage once or twice after the birth of her eldest son, but retired from it altogether in 1671. About this time she was created one of the Ladies of the Queen’s Privy-chamber, under which title she was lodged in WhitehalLf Madam Ellen lost none of her popularity by her “ elevation.” She carried with her into the Court the careless assurance of her stage manners; and, as Burnet says, continued “ to hang on her clothes with the same slovenly negli¬ gence;” but she likewise carried there qualities even more rare in a Court than coarse manners and negligent attire: the same frolic gaiety, the same in¬ genuous nature, and the same kind and cordial benevolence, which had rendered her adored among her comrades. Her wit was as natural and as peculiar to herself as the perfume to the flower. She seems to have been, as the Duchess de Chaulnes expressed it, femme (Tespr'it, par la grace de Dieu her bon- mots fell from her lips with such an unpremeditated felicity of expression, and her turn of humour was so perfectly original, that though it occasionally verged upon extravagance and vulgarity, even her maddest flights became her ; • Others say that Dorset himself introduced her at Court, to shake the influence of the Duchess of Cleveland. f Pegge’s Curialia, p. 58. This was too disgraceful, but the disgrace rests with Charles, who offered, and the Queen who endured the outrage, rather than upon Nell Gwynn, who certainly never sought the dignity. It is illustrative of the morals of the time, that a female writer, in the Dedi¬ cation of a Comedy to Mistress Ellen Gwynn, chooses her principal topic of compliment from the connexion of that lady with Majesty ; and congratulates her upon the children born from that union, as peculiar blessings sent down from Heaven upon the mother and the kingdom. ‘ Nor can Heaven give you more, who has expressed a particular care of you in every way, and above all in the bestowing on the world and you two noble branches, who have all the greatness and sweetness of their Royal and beautiful stock,’ &c. &c. Indeed some passages in this extraordinary address come so near to blasphemy, that a mind not overtinctured with piety, must recoil from the repetition of them. ‘ So excellent and perfect a creature as yourself differs only from the Divine Powers in this,’ &c.; and again, ‘When you [that is Nelly!!] speak, men crowd to listen with that awful reverence as to Holy oracles, or Divine prophecies.’ It is charitable to hope, that by ‘ Divine Powers,* the authoress insinuated nothing beyond the Paphian Deities; and by ‘ Oracles and Pro¬ phecies,’ meant only the responses of the Priestess of Cytherea. We turn with pleasure to the social qualities of this Divinity, which have never been disputed, and are prettily touched upon in another part of this dedication. ‘ You never appear but you glad the hearts of all that have the happy fortune to see you, as if you were made on purpose to put the whole world into good-humour.’” 92 NELL GWYNN. “ as if,” says one of her cotemporaries, “ she alone had the patent from heaven to engross all hearts.” Burnet calls her “ the wildest and indiscreetest crea¬ ture that ever was in a Courtand speaking of the King’s constant attach¬ ment to her, he adds, “ but, after all, he never treated her with the decencies of a mistress.” This last observation of the good Bishop is certainly “ twisted into a ph rase of some obscurity :” the truth is, that Nell had a natural turn for goodness, which survived all her excesses; she was wild and extravagant, but not rapacious or selfish—frail, not vicious; she never meddled with politics, nor made herself the tool of ambitious courtiers. At the time that the King’s mistresses were everywhere execrated foi their avarice and arrogance, it was remarked that Nell Gwynn never asked any thing for herself, never gave her¬ self unbecoming airs, as if she deemed her unhappy situation a subject of pride : there is not a single instance of her using her influence over Charles for any unworthy purpose; but, on the contrary, the presents which the King’s love or bounty lavished upon her, she gave and spent freely ; and misfortune, deserved or undeserved, never approached her in vain. Once, as she was dri¬ ving up Ludgate hill, she saw a poor clergyman in the hands of the sheriff’s officers, and struck with compassion, she alighted from her carriage, inquired into the circumstances of his arrest, and paid his debt on the spot; and finding, on application to the vouchers he had named, that his character was as unex¬ ceptionable as his misfortunes were real, she generously befriended him and his family. The plan of that fine institution, Chelsea Hospital, would probably never have been completed, at least, in the reign of Charles, but for the per¬ severing and benevolent enthusiasm of this woman, who never let the King rest till it was carried into execution. Th ese and many other instances of her kind nature endeared her to the po¬ pulace. On one occasion, a superb service of plate, which had been ordered for the Duchess of Portsmouth, was exhibited in the shop of a certain gold¬ smith, and the common people crowded round the window to gaze. On learn¬ ing for whom it was intended, they broke out into execrations and abuse, wishing the silver melted and poured down her throat, and loudly exclaiming, that “ it had been much better bestowed upon Madam Ellen.” Strange as it may seem, Nell piqued herself upon her orthodox principles and her reverence for the clergy, partly from a sincere religious feeling which had been early and unaccountably impressed on her mind, and never left her; and partly, perhaps, out of opposition to the Papist favourite, the Duchess of NELL GWYNN. 93 Portsmouth. Madame De Sevigne gives in one of her letters so piquant a description of Nell Gwynn and her merry impertinence to her rival, that instead of referring to the volume, I give the passage at length. “ Keroualle” (the Duchess of Portsmouth) “ n’a ete trompee sur rien. Elle avolt envie d’etre la maitresse du roi; elle Test.... Elle a un fils qui vient d’etre reconnu, et a qui on a donne deux duches. Elle amasse des tre- sors, et se fait aimer et respecter de qui elle peut; mais elle n’avoit pas prevu trouver en chemin, une jeune comedienne, dont le roi est ensorcele. Elle n’a pas le pouvoir de Ten detacher un moment. La comedienne est aussi here que la Duchesse de Portsmouth : elle la morgue, lui derobe souvent le roi, et se vante de ses preferences. Elle est jeune, folle, hardie, debauchee, et plaisante : elle chante, elle danse, et fait son metier de bonne foi: elle a un fils ; elle veut qu’il soit reconnu. Void son raisonnement: ‘ Cette demoiselle,’ dit-elle, ‘ fait la personne de qualite. Elle dit, que tout est son parent en France. Des qu’il meurt quelque grand, elle prend le deuil. He bien ! puisqu’elle est de si grande qualite, pourquoi s’est elle faite..? Elle devroit mourir de honte. Pour moi, c’est mon metier ; je ne me pique pas d’autre chose. Le roi m’entretient; je ne suis qu’^ lui presentment. J’en ai un fils, je pretends qu’il doit etre reconnu ; et il le reconnoitra, car il m’aime autant que sa Portsmouth. “ Cette creature,” continues Madame de Sevigne, “ tient le haut du pave, et decontenance et embarrasse extraordinairement la Duchesse.” Besides her apartment in Whitehall, in quality of Lady of the Queen’s Privy Chamber, Nell Gwynn had lodgings in Pall Mall,* where she frequently entertained the King and a few of his chosen companions with petits soupers and select concerts. On one of these occasions, she had collected together some new and excellent performers, and the King was so much enchanted, that he expressed his approbation in strong terms. “ Then, Sir!” said Nell, hold¬ ing out her hand, “ to show that you do not speak merely as a courtier, let me have the pleasure of presenting these poor people with a gratuity from your Majesty !” The King, feeling in his pocket, declared he had no money, and turning to the Duke of York, asked him if he had any ? The Duke replied, “ No, Sir, I believe not above a guinea or two.” Nell, shaking her head, with * At the left hand corner of St. Jaines’s-square : the walls of the back room on the ground floor were (within memory) entirely of looking-glass, as was said to have been the ceiling.— Pennant’s London, p. 90. N 94 NELL GWYNN. her petit air malin, and drolly mimicking the King’s tone and habitual expression, exclaimed, “ Odds fish ! what company have I got into here!” Cibber, who relates this anecdote, and lived about the same time, tells us that Nell was never known to have'been unfaithful to the King, from the mo¬ ment he first noticed her, and that she was “ as much distinguished for her personal attachment to him, as her rivals were by their titles and grandeur.” Her disinterested affection, her sprightly humour, her inexhaustible powers of entertainment, and constant desire to please, must have formed an agreeable contrast to the rapacity, ill temper, affectation, and arrogant caprices of the other court ladies. Charles, in spite of every attempt made to detach him from her, loved her to the last, and his last thought was for her :—“ Let not poor Nelly starve !” Burnet, who records this dying speech, is piously scan¬ dalized that the King should have thought of such “ a creature,” in such a moment; but some will consider it with more mercy, as one among the few traits which redeem the sensual and worthless Charles from utter contempt. After the King’s death, Nell Gwynn continued to reside in Pall Mall, Avhere she lived on a small pension and some presents the King had made her. She survived him about seven years, conducting herself with the strictest decorum, and spending her time in devotion and her small allowance in acts of beneficence: she died in 1691. Dr. Tennison, then Vicar of St. Martin’s, and afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, preached her funeral sermon, in which he enlarged upon her benevolent qualities, her sincere penitence, and exemplary end. When this was afterwards mentioned to Queen Mary, in the hope that it would injure him in her estimation, and be a bar to his prefer¬ ment, “ And what then ?” answered she hastily; “ I have heard as much : it is a sign that the poor unfortunate woman died penitent; for if I can read a man’s heart through his looks, had she not made a pious and Christian end, the Doctor could never have been induced to speak well of her !” Nell Gwynn was possessed of little at her death, and that little was by her will distributed in charity. She left, among other bequests, a small sum yearly to the ringers of the church of St. Martin, where she was buried, which donation they still enjoy. She bore the King two sons, Charles and James Beauclerc. Charles Beauclerc, her eldest son, was born in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, in 1670, NELL GWYNN. 95 a short time before his mother quitted the stage. The occasion of his being titled and acknowledged, is too characteristic to be omitted. When the children of the Duchesses of Cleveland and Portsmouth had been dig¬ nified with titles, orders, and offices, Nell Gwynn naturally felt piqued that her sons, whose filial claims upon his Majesty, as the fountain of honour, were at least as well founded, should be passed over, and she took her own whimsi¬ cal method of hinting her wishes to the King. One day, when his Majesty was present, and her eldest son was playing in the room, she called to him aloud, in a petulant tone, “ Come here, you little bastard !” The King, much shocked, reproved her; she replied meekly, and with the most demure sim¬ plicity, that “ indeed she was very sorry, but had no better name to give him, poor boy !” A few days afterwards, this nameless young gentleman was created Baron of Heddington and Earl of Burford, and in 1683, Duke of ST. Albans, Register of the High Court of Chancei'y and Grand Falconer of England. He inherited his mother’s personal beauty, and served with great bravery under King William. This first Duke of St. Albans married Lady Diana Vere, sole daughter of Aubrey de Vere twentieth and last Earl of Oxford, and the greatest heiress in rank and descent in the three kingdoms.* She was very young at the period of her marriage, and as amiable and innocent as lovely. She was the mother of eight sons, of whom Lord Vere Beauclerc, (ancestor of the present duke,) was distinguished as a naval commander; and Lord Sidney Beauclerc was the father of that Topham Beauclerc, who was the friend of Dr. Johnson, and one of the worthies of Boswell. The present Duke of St. Albans is the fifth in descent from Nell Gwynn. Her younger son. Lord James Beauclerc, died in his childhood at Paris. The secret of Nell Gwynn’s popularity seems to have consisted in what is usually called heart, in a kindness and candour of disposition which the errors and abject miseries of her youth could not harden, nor her acquaint¬ ance with a corrupt court entirely vitiate. On comparing and combining the scattered traits and personal allusions found in contemporary writers, it appears that she was in person considerably below the middle size, but formed' with perfect elegance; the contour of her face was round, her features delicate, her eyes bright and intelligent, but so small as to be almost * Her picture, by Kueller, is among the Beauties at Hampton Court, N 2 96 NKLL GWYNN. concealed when she laughed; her cheek was usually dimpled with smiles, and her countenance radiant with hilarity; but when at rest it was soft and even pensive in its expression ; her voice was sweet and well modulated; her hair glossy, abundant, and of a light auburn ; her hands were singularly small and beautiful, and her pretty foot so very diminutive, as to afford occasion for mirth as well as admiration. The engraved portrait is after a picture by Sir Peter Lely, in the pos¬ session of General Grosvenor ; it agrees perfectly with the foregoing descrip¬ tion, and there can exist no doubt of its authenticity. The dress is certainly in the extreme of that negligence for which the lady was remarkable; “ Robes loosely flowing—hair as free.” Her left hand rests upon a lamb, which she crowns with flowers. The turn of the neck and the air of the head are full of grace and character; and the whole picture, though a little injured by time, is exquisitely painted. M/lis/ie^/ iy /J.AAturp/iy /)ec ’ ' V. V>'4 ' ^ \ I 7 . > I i ■ S . . •* 1 ^ * ' *? « * '> THE DUCHESS OF SOMERSET. Cliaste was she, to detraction’s desperation, And wedded unto one she had loved well— A man known in the councils of the nation. Cool and quite English—imperturbable. Though apt to act with fire upon occasion. Proud of himself and her ;—the world could tell Nought against either, and both seemed secure— She in her virtue, he in his hauteur. Lord Byron. In the reign of Charles the Second, there were three Duchesses of Somer¬ set : it has therefore been a matter of some difficulty to appropriate the beau¬ tiful picture in the gallery at Windsor to its true original. The first of these ladies was Frances, widow of William, second Duke of Somerset; more celebrated by the title of the Marquis of Hertford—he who eloped with Lady Arabella Stuart in the reign of James the First. She died, very old, in 1679. The second was Sarah, wife of John, fourth Duke of Somerset; the daughter of a physician, and the widow of George Grimstone, Esq. The prints and pictures of this Duchess bear no resemblance to the picture known at Windsor as the Duchess of Somerset, neither is she mentioned in the Court Chronicles of the day : her fame rests upon a far different basis, that of a foun¬ dress of Alms-houses and a benefactress of Colleges. She died, at a very advanced age, in 1692. The third Duchess (Lady Elizabeth Percy) did not bear that title till 1682, and the picture in question must have been painted before that time. This, how¬ ever, is not a conclusive argument: according to Horace Walpole and others. Sir Peter Lely died suddenly, in 1680, while painting a portrait of the “ beautiful Duchess of Somersetnow there could have been no other 98 THE DUCHESS OF SOMERSET. beautiful Duchess of Somerset alluded to, except the Lady Elizabeth, who so soon afterwards bore that title. There is, I must confess, a maturity of beauty about this portrait, which scarce agrees with the youthful age of the lady. It is difficult to reconcile all these circumstances, and it is not without dif¬ fidence and some feeling of uncertainty that the accompanying portrait has been adjudged to the Lady Elizabeth Percy. This beautiful woman, who united in her own person the long-descended honours and vast possessions of the house of Percy, was the sole daughter of Josceline, eleventh and last Earl of Northumberland, in the direct line; and Lady Elizabeth Wriothesley, youngest daughter of the Earl of Southampton. Her father, dying abroad, left her, an infant of four years old, heiress of all the immense estates of her family, and holding in her own right six of the oldest Baronies in the kingdom: those of Percy, Lucy, Poynings, Fitz- Payne, Bryan, and Latimer. The Lady Elizabeth Percy was eai’ly consigned to the care of her grand¬ mother, the old Countess of Northumberland,* who gave her a strict and ex¬ cellent education; but so great an heiress could not long be kept in retirement, or in ignorance of her own rights and importance; even in her infancy, she was surrounded by suitors, who sighed, not for her immature charms, but her broad lands and proud titles; and it was her peculiar fate to be three times a wife, and twice a widow, before she was sixteen. She was first married, at the age of thirteen, to Henry Cavendish, Earl of Ogle, (only son of the Duke of Newcastle), who assumed immediately the name and arms of Percy. The young Earl was about the same age as his bride, and a boy of great promise ; but he unfortunately died within a few months after his marriage, in 1680. Upon his death, lovers, or rather suitors, again crowded round the youth¬ ful Countess, then in her fourteenth year. Among them were Thomas Thynne, of Longleate Hall; and the celebrated adventurer. Count Konings- mark. The personal advantages of Koningsmark possibly attracted the notice of the inexperienced girl; but her relations hastened to prevent the effects of his captivating assiduities, by contracting her to Mr. Thynne; but before the * Lady Elizabeth Howard, second wife of Algernon, tenth Earl of Northumberland. THE DUCHESS OF SOMERSET. 99 marriage could be actually solemnized, Thyime was murdered in his carriage, while driving through Pall Mall, by three assassins hired by Koningsmark for the purpose. The Count himself escaped abroad ; but the three wretched in¬ struments of his crime were appi'chended, and suffered on the very spot on which it was committed. Thynne seems to have been a weak man, and a heartless libertine to boot; and Lady Elizabeth may be pardoned for the little regret she bestowed on his tragical fate. As her affections had never been engaged, or even her inclina¬ tions consulted in this union, she was, after the first shock, easily consoled; and in three months afterwards (May 20th, 1682) she married Charles Seymour, sixth Duke of Somerset. The Duke was then in his twentieth year, possessed of a fine commanding person, dark complexioned, and regularly handsome ; he was generous, brave, and magnificent, with a cultivated mind, and a taste for the fine arts; but so inordinately arrogant in his manners, and vain of his illustrious rank, that in his own time, and since, he has always been distinguished as the “ Proud Duke of Somerset.”* This ruling foible, which in its excess almost bordered on insanity, threw a shade of ridicule over his character in public ; but in private, it was supported by such high qualities of heart and mind, that no man, perhaps, was ever so much adored, and at the same time beheld with such awful reverence by his family and dependents. His wife gave a strong proof of her love for him, when in spite of her own pride of ancestry, and it was not inconsiderable,—for she had been educated with a high idea of all the importance which attached to her as the heiress and representative of the Percies,—she sacrificed her pride to her affection. Her first act, when she came of age, was to release her husband from the disagreeable obligation imposed by her marriage articles, of changing the name of Seymour for that of Percy; while she dropped her own family name, illustrious and dear as it must have been in her eyes, to take that of her husband—dearer to her because it was his: and this was just as it should be, in the right and true feeling of an affectionate woman. The Duchess was subsequently one of the greatest ornaments of the Court * His children were not allowed to sit in his presence; his servants obeyed by signs ; and when he travelled, the roads were cleared before him by his outriders. “ Get out of the way,'’ cried one of these to a countryman who was driving a pig, “ my Lord Duke is coming, and does not choose to be looked upon.” The fellow, a true John Bull, snatched up his pig in a rage, and holding him up at the carriage window, exclaimed, “ But 1 will see him ! and my pig shall see him loo'. ’ 100 THE DUCHESS OS' SOMERSET. of William the Third and Queen Anne ; and on the disgrace of the Duchess of Marlborough, succeeded her as Groom of the Stole to the Queen. She died in 1722, after having presented her husband with thirteen children, of whom two only survived her. Her eldest son, Algernon, Earl of Hertford, distinguished himself in the Duke of Marlborough’s wars, and was in every respect one of the most accom¬ plished noblemen of his time. His wife (who by an odd fatality, was one of the family of Thynne) was that amiable Duchess of Somerset, many of whose letters have been published in Shenstone’s correspondence. Through their only daughter, who became the representative of the Percies and Seymours, the title of the former family, and the possessions of both, descended to the present Duke of Northumberland.* This portrait of the Duchess of Somerset was engraved, many years ago, under the mistaken title of the Countess of Ossory. With the exception of the right hand, the position and drawing of which are really inexcusable, this is one of the loveliest pictures in the Gallery of Beauties. She is represented leaning on a pedestal ; the ^head is a little inclined, the complexion fair, and the features beautiful. The drapery, which is of a pale blue, is rather too negligently put on ;—I am at a loss to tell for what it is intended, as it is so arranged, that on the least movement, it must inevitably fall from the lovely form it conceals. The bust is much exposed ; but nothing can exceed the deli¬ cacy of the tints and pencilling in the neck and bosom, and the sweet and ten¬ der manner in which the whole picture is executed. The background is equal to the rest. * After the death of the Duchess Elizabeth, the Duke married in 1725, Lady Charlotte Finch : a sliort time after their union, his young Bride wishing to command his attention, playfully tapped him on the shoulder with her fan : her husband startled at such a freedom, turned upon her frown- ingly.— Madam,” said he, “my first wife was a Percy, and s/ie never took such a liberty I” to /)eYf7?i/)er > • ^» t- i 4 \ K - >1 * <£ '0 <. 1 4 ■ /•? \ THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND. Lost in a labyrinth of doubts and joys, Whom now her smiles revived, her scorn destroys. She will, and she will not—she grants, denies. Consents, retracts, advances, and then flies. Granville. Among the beautiful women of Charles’s Court, none were more con¬ spicuous during their life, or have been more celebrated since their death, than Frances Stewart—“ La belle Stewart” of De Grammont’s Memoirs, and afterwards Duchess of Richmond : yet her character as a woman is neither elevated nor interesting; and the passion which the King long entei- tained for her, and the liberties in which she indulged him, either through weakness or a spirit of coquetry, exposed her, at one period, to very dis¬ graceful imputations. On a review of her whole conduct, as far as it can now be known and judged from the information of cotemporary writers, the testi¬ monies in favour of her virtue appear to preponderate: yet it must be con¬ fessed that we are left to choose between two alternatives, and it is hard to tell which is the worst: if “ la belle Stewart” was not the most cold and most artful coquette that ever perplexed the wits of man, she was certainly the most cunning piece of frailty that ever wore the form of woman. Frances Theresa Stewart was the daughter of Walter Stewart, Esq. third son of Lord Blantyre. The family had been distinguished for loyalty, and had suffered much in the civil wars. Walter Stewart took refuge in France, where, as it appears, either himself or his wife was attached to the household of the widowed Queen Henrietta Maria. Miss Stewart was thus brought up under the eye of royalty, and such was the admiration which even her bud¬ ding and immature loveliness attracted in the French capital, that Lewis the o 98 THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND. Fourteenth wished to have detained her, merely as an ornament to his court, and oifered her mother to portion and marry her nobly ; but on the restora¬ tion of the royal family, the Queen Dowager refused to leave her young favourite behind, and brought her, with her mother and her sister Sophia, in her train to England. I have not been able to ascertain the date of Miss Stewart’s birth, but she must have been so extremely young at the period of her arrival, as not to have reached her full growth.* Partly through the influence of the Queen Mother, and partly owing to her father’s claims on the royal protection, she was appointed one of the maids of honour to Catherine of Braganza in 1663 ; but some months elapsed before her beauty, expanding into all the graces of womanhood, produced that sensation which it after¬ wards caused in the court. Soon after her arrival Miss Stewart formed a kind of friendship with Lady Castlemaine, wTiich, considering her duty to the Queen, and the charac¬ ter of the favourite, was not very reputable, and is scarcely excused by her youth and inexperience. Lady Castlemaine, either confiding in her own charms, or contemning the childish character and trusting in the coldness of the young beauty, affected to patronise her, had her constantly at her side, and almost forced her upon the King’s notice. She was the last to perceive what a formidable rival she had raised up for herself, and then, as was natural in her vain, vindictive mind, all her fondness turned to measureless hatred. This enmity extended itself even to the waiting-maids of the rival beauties, and the court was sometimes so disturbed by the squabbles of these abigails, that the King exposed himself to ridicule by interfering to restore peace between them. There seems to have been but one opinion as to the consummate love¬ liness of Miss Stewart. Her features were faultless and regular, her com¬ plexion dazzling, her hair fair and luxuriant. Her figure, which rose above the common height, was well proportioned, though slender; she danced, walked, dressed with perfect elegance, and sat her horse with peculiar grace. To her Parisian education she owed that air de pariire which excited De Grammont’s admiration as being so “ truly French.” She was polished and gentle in her deportment, and does not appear to have been infected b}'^ the * Pepys.—He obseives in one passage, that Miss Stewart had grown considerably since he last saw hei*: this was in 1664. THE DUCHESS OP RICHMOND. 99 coarseness of her friend Lady Castlemaine, either in mind or manners. Lord Clarendon adds one trait which ought not, in justice, to be omitted ;—“ that she was never known to speak ill of any one.” This constitutional good¬ nature, her childish disposition, her dislike to all serious pursuits or conver¬ sation, and her perfect indifference to state intrigues, must have captivated Charles even more than the transcendant beauty of her face and figure. He had a just aversion for all learned and political ladies; with less reason, though a wit himself, he hated wit in a woman, and any thing like sentiment or refinement, appeared to him absolutely superfluous, and merely syno¬ nymous with prudery and hypocrisy. Charms such as Miss Stewart possessed, would certainly have dealt de¬ struction round the whole court, but for two powerful reasons. In the first place, the king’s admiration was so early and so ardently displayed, that no well-bred courtier dared openly to interfere with his homage, or obstruct his views; and secondly. Miss Stewart’s understanding was not equal to her beauty. The frivolity of her mind, the shallowness of her character, and the coldness of her temper, must have diminished the power of mere external grace, in a court adorned by such women as Miss Hamilton and Lady Ches¬ terfield. She seems to have possessed just wit enough to feel her power, and use it “for the convenience of her own fortune.”* Fond of adoration, yet armed with indifference, weak, yet cunning, and taught by the lessons of an intriguing mother, she was able to turn the arts of men against themselves: she could grant small favours, hold out alluring hopes, descend, in fact, far beneath a woman’s dignity, and strangely compromise a maiden’s modesty:— but what then ? she preserved a sort of negative reputation ; and this, I am afraid, is all that can be granted to Miss Stewart. Perhaps, if we consider the situation in which she was placed, even this is much: she was pursued for years, by a gay, enamoured, captivating monarch; and not only kept him at bay, and trifled with his passion, but drew within the vortex of her de¬ structive charms, some of the courtiers, whose youth or vanity forgot the .greatness of the risk in the greatness of the temptation. Among the most distinguished of these was the Duke of Buckingham—he, who at once “ chemist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon,” could adapt himself * Clareudou, p. 338, folio edit. o 2 100 THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND. to all women as well as to all men. Miss Stewart’s amusements were so child¬ ish, that Count Hamilton assures us, “ tout y etait, hors les poupees:”* blind- raan’s-bulF, and hunt the slipper, were among her favourite diversions. In the presence-chamber she used to employ herself in building houses of cards; while those who wished to secure the good graces of the beautiful favourite, forsook the basset-table to supply her with materials, or affected eagerly to partake her amusement. Among these, Buckingham, that universal genius, was conspicuous for his skill in this frail species of architecture; he sang well, he was an excellent mimic; he composed impromptu fairy tales to admira¬ tion, and couplets more remarkable for their wit than their delicacy. These accomplishments, and his gay impertinence, made him so agreeable to Miss Stewart, that, with the King’s permission, or at least in his presence, she used to send for the Duke to amuse her whenever she felt ennuyee. Buck¬ ingham’s original design had been to secure an influence over her mind, which should enable him, by governing her, to rule his master; but he was caught in his own device : he was unable to resist the charms and flattering smiles of this young Armida; and at length exchanged the character of an amusing companion to assume that of a sighing Damon. The metamorpho¬ sis was so little pleasing to Miss Stewart, that he received a repulse, from which he did not soon recover; and which, as it compromised him with the King, left him completely at her mercy : instead of making her sub¬ servient to his purposes, he was obliged to content himself with being subservient to hers. The younger Hamilton was another of her lovers : it does not appear that he was distinguished for his skill in card-houses, and by his own confession, he did not pique himself on his ready invention of fairy tales and scandalous stories for her amusement. The manner in which he first attracted the par¬ ticular notice of Miss Stewart gives us a strange idea of the coarse manners which prevailed in Charles’s Court. A brilliant circle had assembled one evening in Miss Stewart’s apartments at Whitehall, and Lord Carlingford, an old Irish Peer, undertook to amuse the young beauty by making what is * Miss Stewart was not absolutely singular in her penchant for romping or childish diversions ; for instance, we find the following memorandum in Pepys : “ I did find the Duke and Duchess of York, and all the great ladies, sitting upon a carpet on the ground, (here being no chaiis, playing at ‘ I love my love with an A, because he is so and so ; and I hate him with an A, because of this and that and some of them, but particularly the Duchess herself and my Lady Castlemaine, were very witty.”—Pepys’ Diary, vol. ii. 311. THE DUCHESS OP RICHMOND. 101 vulgarly called a “ lantern of his jaws,” that is holding a lighted taper in his mouth for a certain time. Hamilton would not be outdone in this noble accomplishment, and he confounded his competitor by holding at once two tapers in his capacious mouth ; Killegrew humorously complimented him, and offered to back him against a lantern, while Miss Stewart was thrown into ecstascies. From this time Hamilton was more particularly graced by her favour, and made one of her select coterie ; he presented her with a beautiful little horse, on which she had an opportunity of displaying her inimitable elegance as an equestrian, and was always at her side to teach her how to manage her spirited steed; in short, the lady became every day more gracious and the gentleman more enamoured ; and if De Grammont, then in love with Miss Hamilton, had not interfered, with a kind of fraternal interest, and roused Hamilton from his inconsiderate dream, this affair would probably have ended in his disgrace, and consequent ruin, as his fortunes depended wholly on the King’s favour. De Grammont represented to him that Miss Stewart had in reality no other view than that of making him her “ esclave de parade that Charles, though in general the most easy and peaceable of men and mo- narchs, was not to be trifled with on certain points. “ Point de raillerie avec le maitre, c’est a dire, point de lorgnerie avec la maitresse.” Hamilton had just so much sense, or so little love, as to take this friendly advice, and withdrew his pretensions in time to escape banishment from the Court, which assuredly would have been the consequence of his temerity. Miss Stewart had also the honour of inspiring with a more serious and fervent passion Francis Digby, one of the sons of the Earl of Bristol, and a brave and accomplished young man. This attachment is not alluded to in the Memoirs of De Grammont, being of a later date than the events recorded there ; nor can we guess at the degree of encouragement she may have given him, except by remembering her character; it was sufficient to turn his head, and to make him rush upon danger and death as a relief; he was killed in the sea fight between the English and the Dutch in the year 1672. His devoted love for Miss Stewart was so well and so publicly known, that Dryden made his fate and her cruelty the subject of his song, “ Farewell, Fair Armida.” * * This song is mere common-place, and deserved the ridicule thrown on it in the Reliearsal, where it is ludicrously parodied in “ A song made by Tom Thimble’s first wife after she was dead.” 102 THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND. To these distinguished admirers we may add two others, not unknown to fame. Philippe Rotier, the celebrated Medallist, who was called over to England to cut the die for the new coinage, exhibited her head on the reverse for Britannia. This man became so passionately enamoured of Miss Stewart while she sat to him, as nearly to lose his senses. Walpole says that the profile which the same artist afterwards engraved for a medal, displays the most perfect face ever seen.* Nat Lee the Poet has addressed a dedication to her, which is perfect “ Midsummer madness ;”•!* but as he was already on the high road to Bedlam that is not very surprising. The Duke of Richmond | also sighed for her; but he contented himself for some time with distant homage, and with drink¬ ing pint bumpers in honour of her beauty, till he had almost lost the little intellect nature had bestowed on him; but what he lost in wit he seems to have gained in audacity, for he made the fair lady understand, that though reduced for the present to drown his love in wine, he was ready to make her a duchess whenever she was willing to elope with him. In the mean time, though the King had the power of keeping all competitors at a distance, he was not him¬ self more avarice. Miss Stewart retained her power by standing most pertina- * In Waller’s poems is an epigram on this medal, beginning Our guard upon the royal side. On the reverse our beauty’s pride, &c. It contains a compliment to Miss Stewart, which implies that her resistance to the King received its full credit at court; the verses are common-place, and if there be any point in the last line, Virtue’s a stronger guard than brass ! it can only mean that the virtue of Miss Stewart, such as it was, stood her in more stead than the brass of Lady Castlemaine ! f For instance.—“ Something there is in your mien so much above what we vulgarly call charming, that to me it seems adorable, and your presence almost divine, whose dazzling and majestic form is a proper mansion for the most elevated soul; and let me tell the world, nay sighing speak it to a barbarous age, (1 cannot help calling it so when I think of Rome and Greece,) your extraordinary love for heroic poetry is not the least argument to shew the greatness of your mind and fullness of perfection. To hear you speak with that infinite sweetness and cheerfulness of spirit that is natural to your grace, is methinks, to hear our tutelar angels, 'tis to bemoan the present malicious times, and remember the Golden Age; but to behold you too, is to make prophets quite forget their heaven, and blind a poet with eternal rapture 1” &c. &c. I Charles Stewart, Duke of Richmond and Lennox ; he was the last Duke of Richmond of his family. After his death, Charles 11. conferred the title on the son of the Duchess of Portsmouth. The present head of that branch of the Stewarts from which the Duke of Richmond and Lord Blau • tyre (Miss Stewart’s grandfather) were both descended, is, I believe, the Earl of Galloway. THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND. 103 ciously on the defensive, without actually driving him to despair. When the Queen fell dangerously ill, she was immediately surrounded by the obsequious and rapacious courtiers, and regarded as her probable successor; the atrocious advice of the Duke of Buckingham on this occasion, has been related in the memoir of Queen Catherine. Miss Stewart, on her quarrel with Lady Castle- maine, had made a great display of duty to the Queen, who treated her with kindness, and seems to have placed some confidence in her discretion. While the King pursued her with the most undisguised and insulting attention. Miss Stewart certainly avenged some of the wrongs of her mistress, and her whole sex, by the dexterity with which she contrived to torment her accomplished but profligate lover. She stooped at times to very equivocal compliances when afraid to lose him ; at another moment she would talk of throwing herself into a French convent; and her airs and caprices, her alternate fits of hauteur and tenderness, so agitated the King, that he sometimes appeared at the council-board like a man distracted. He offered titles which were refused, and presents—which were accepted; he set about reforming his menage cTamour in compliance with her affected scruples and pretended jealousy ; he promised to give up Lady Castlemaine, and to discard his singers and actresses, and other superfluous ladies then on his establishment;—in vain ! till at a critical moment the Chevalier De Grammont stepped in to his majesty’s assistance. De Grammont had just received from Paris, a certain caleche, which he pre¬ sented to the King. Such a caleche, so light, so elegant in its form, so finished in all its appointments, had never before been seen in England ; it excited the admiration of the whole court. The Queen, Lady Castlemaine, and Miss Stewart, were each eager to be the first to exhibit themselves in this wonderful caleche;—the preference was given to Miss Stewart: a preference which, it was scandalously insinuated, cost the fair lady some diminution of that immaculate purity upon which she had hitherto piqued herself. It may be said in excuse for Miss Stewart, that her situation was peculiar and difficult; the King was armed with a power, which, in those days, few thought of resisting; and either to free herself from his pursuit, or anxious to be made a duchess on reputable terms, she listened to the addresses of the Duke of Richmond. Love (even by her own confession) had little to do with this choice; the duke was merely a goodnatured fool, addicted to habitual intoxication ; and with no one recommendation to a lady’s grace but his high rank, and his near relationship to the royal family. 104 THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND. One evening Lady Castlemaine, who kept paid spies to watch all the movements of her dangerous I'ival, discovered that she had an appointment with the Duke of Richmond, and instantly informed the King, with the most insulting expressions, to whom, and for whom, he was sacrificed. Driven by this female fury, the King rushed to the apartment of Miss Stew'art: her women looked terrified, and denied him access, assuring him that their lady had retired to rest, much indisposed, and unable to see him. He pushed them aside, and forced his way rudely to her chamber. On entering abruptly, he found the fair lady reclining on a couch, and certainly neither indisposed nor asleep. The Duke of Richmond was seated at her side. The inexpressible confusion of the lovers, thus surprised, can only be imagined, and the King, unable to restrain his rage, burst into a torrent of threats and reproaches, which seemed to terrify the duke much more than they discomposed Miss Stewart. The room in which this scene took place over¬ looked the river; he cast a glance at the window, then at the King, whose eyes sparkled, and whose frame trembled with unwonted passion, and judging it best not to trust his safety within reach of the lion’s paw, he made no re¬ ply, but with a profound bow, backed out of the apartment, leaving the lady to make her peace as best she might. She, who well knew the character of Charles, assumed a high tone on the occasion, insisted on her right to receive the addresses of the duke in what manner and at what time she pleased, com¬ plained of insult and tyi'anny, and threatened to throw herself into a nunnery abroad. The King left her in anger, and in the utmost agitation. The fol¬ lowing day the Duke of Richmond was ordered to quit the Court; but, not being gifted with the assurance or magnanimity of his mistress, or through that best part of wisdom, which some call cowardice and some discretion, he had anticipated the royal commands, and retired the night before. A few days afterwards. Miss Stewart took an opportunity of throwing herself at the feet of the Queen her mistress, and very pathetically entreated her protection and forgiveness; the good-natured Catheiine, now subdued to “ the quality of her lord,” forgave her : she considered, that since she must needs suffer a rival, it would be better to trust the gentleness of Miss Stewart, than to be outbraved by the insolent termagant, Castlemaine ; and that by preventing the flight or marriage of a woman whom her husband loved to distraction, she was giving herself a claim to his eternal gratitude; in conse¬ quence, she charitably exerted herself to bring about a reconciliation between the King and his coy, perverse mistress, and succeeded .so well, that for a THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND. 105 while all was peace and smiles—a hollow peace and most deceitful smiles. One cold dark night, in the month of March 1667, Miss Stewart found means to steal from her lodging in Whitehall, and joining the Duke of Richmond at a tavern in Westminster, where he had horses waiting, she eloped with him into Surrey, and they were privately married the next morning by the Duke’s chaplain. “ What dire events from amorous causes spring,” we are not now to learn from tale or history. A catastrophe, which hung upon the caprice of a giddy woman, influenced the destiny of three kingdoms. / The King was transported with rage at a step which seemed to set his love and power at defiance : all who were suspected of having been privy to the marriage of Miss Stewart with the Duke of Richmond, (among whom were some of the King’s best friends and wisest counsellors,) fell under his extreme displeasure. The great Lord Clarendon was deprived of the Seals and banished,* and his dismissal was followed by those consequences which paved the way for the Revolution. Pepys, in his Diary, records a conversation which took place soon after her marriage, between the Duchess of Richmond and one of the Lords of the Court, which is very consistent with her character and conduct throughout. She said, that “ when the Duke of Richmond first made love to her, she did ask the King, and the Duke did so likewise, and that the King did not at first refuse his consent.” She confessed, “ That she was come to that pass, as to resolve to have married any gentleman of 1500/. a-year, who would have had her in honour, for she could not longer continue in the Court, without submitting to the wishes of the King, whom she had so long kept off, though he had liberty more than any other had, and more than he ought to have had she said that “ she had reflected on the occasion she had given the world to think her a bad woman, and that she had no way but to marry, and leave the Court rather in this way of discontent than otherwise, that the world might see * “The Earl of Clarendon’s sou, the LordCorubuiy, was going to her (Miss Stewart's) lodgings, upon some assignation that she had given him about her affairs, knowing notliing of her intentions. He met the King in the door, coming out, full of fury. And he suspecting that Lord Cornbury was in the design, spoke to him as one in a rage that forgot all decency, and for some time would not hear Lord Cornbury speak in his own defence. In the afternoon he heard him with more temper, as he himself told me. Yet this made so deep an impression, that he resolved to take the Seals from his father.”—Burnet’s History of his Own Time, vol. 1. p. 354. P 106 THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND. she sought not any thing but her honour.” “ She hopes, though she hath little reason to hope, she can please her lord so as to reclaim him, that they may yet live comfortably in the country on his estate.”* Evelyn believed her to be worth about 6000/. in jewels; among these was a pearl necklace, then valued at 1100/., the King’s first present to her; he had allowed her, while in the Court, seven hundi'ed a^year for her clothes ; but these were trifles, com¬ pared to the sums lavished on Lady Castlemaine and Lady Portsmouth. There is reason to believe, that had Miss Stewart been more complying, she might have commanded any thing which it was in the power of the weak monarch to bestow. But little is known of the Duchess of Richmond after her marriage; she resisted for some time all temptations and entreaties to return to the Court, but in 1668, she was appointed one of the ladies of the Queen’s bed-chamber, and was lodged in Somerset-house, where Catherine then resided. Pepys says, “ that the apartments allotted to her and the Duke were sumptuous, and that the King frequently visited her, but merely in courtesy.” About two years after her marriage she was attacked by the small-pox, from which she recovered with great difficulty. The King paid her much attention during her illness, and even afterwards, when the ravages of that cruel disease had so impaired her matchless beauty that she was scarcely to be recognised : one of her brilliant eyes was nearly quenched for ever.*f- In 1672, the Duke of Rich¬ mond was appointed ambassador to the Court of Denmark, and died at Elsi¬ nore the same year; his duchess did not accompany him abroad; and after his death she continued to reside in the Court near the person of the Queen, with whom she continued a favourite; and Charles having attached himself to the Duchess of Portsmouth, La belle Stewart was no longer honoured or dis¬ honoured by his assiduities. She never married again after the loss of her husband, nor do we hear any thing more of her till her death, which took place in 1702. During the latter part of her life, her time seems to have been divided between cards and cats, and in her last will she bequeathed several of her favourite cats to different female friends, with legacies for their support. The well known line in Pope’s Moral Essays,— “ Die, and endow a college—or a cat!” alludes to the will of the Duchess of Richmond. * Pepys, vol. ii. p. 46. t Vide letter from Rouvigny to Louis XIV. in Dalrymple’s Memoirs. THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND, 107 Warton, with more good nature than probability, supposes this to have been a delicate way of providing for poor, and probably proud gentlewomen, without making them feel that they owed their livelihood to her mere libe¬ rality; if this were the only scruple, methinks it would have been more generous to have left the annuities unburthened with the cats. The bulk of her property was left to her nephew, Walter Stewart, commonly called the Master of Blantyre, for the purchase of certain estates, to be attached to the name and family, and called, in memory of the donor, “ Lennox’s love to Blantyre.” Miss Stewart had a younger sister, Sophia Stewart, married to William third son of the Lord Bulkeley ; she too was celebrated for her beauty. The engraved portrait is from the Gallery of Beauties at Windsor, and represents the Duchess of Richmond as Diana. She holds a bow in one hand, and with the other supports her dress, as if tripping over the dew. The drapery is of a pale yellow. The features are regular, but deficient in ex¬ pression, and the nose is not sufficiently aquiline to agree with other portraits of Miss Stewart, and with the minute descriptions of her person which have been handed down to us. The landscape in this picture is most beautifully painted. P 2 MRS. LAWSON. “ Condamne^ la celebritd sans pouvoir etre connue.”— De Stael. By this title the portrait in the Beauty-room at Windsor has always been traditionally known; but, according to the present style, Mrs. Lawson should properly be Miss Lawson, as the lady here represented was certainly unmarried.* Horace Walpole, Granger, and others haive supposed this picture to be that of Miss Lawson, one of the daughters of the brave and celebrated Admiral Sir John Lawson, who died in consequence of the wounds he re¬ ceived in the sea-fight of 1665, and of whom Lord Clarendon has left us a noble character. This opinion, which is unsupported by any proof except the name, appears, on examination, very improbable. Sir John Lawson was a man of very low extraction, who had formerly been a ship-boy of Hull, and rose, under Cromwell, to be admiral of the fleet. Himself and his whole family had been Puritans and Repubbcans, and although upon the Restoration he declared for the King, saying it was his duty to defend and fight for his country, no matter who governed it, it is not very likely that his family should be distinguished at court, where he himself seldom came. His eldest daughter married Richard Norton, Esq. of Southwick, which was considered so great a match, that to bestow on her a portion worthy of it. Sir John impoverished himself and the rest of his family.*f- There is not the slightest * In the reign of Charles II. and long afterwards, Mrs. or Mistress was the usual appellation of a young unmarried woman. Married women were entitled Madam. Tlie word Miss was seldom used but in a very disreputable sense. t See Clarendon’.s History—and Campbell’s Lives of the Admirals. f ¥ i * t I **^*4 ’ - V - I Engraved by Ji.If’ li. rtttittihfKiht k! I I Jli'’i (' r ////\/r// MRS. LAWSON. 109 reason to suppose that this young lady had any claims to be included in a series of Court Beauties. The Mrs. Lawson of the Windsor Gallery must have been one of the five daughters of Sir John Lawson, a Roman Catholic Baronet, of Brough, in Yorkshire. He married - Catherine Howard, a daughter of the Earl of Carlisle, whose younger brother, Thomas Howard,* became the second husband of Mary Villiers, Duchess of Richmond, and sister of the Duke of Buckingham. Thus, a woinan of high rank and intriguing spirit, connected, by her first marriage, with the blood royal, and the sister of the reigning favourite, became the aunt of the five Miss Lawsons. There is reason to believe, from various scattered notices, that this Duchess of Richmond introduced one of her nieces at court, with a view of captivating the easy affections of Charles, and counteracting, through her influence, the ascendancy of the Duchess of Portsmouth. One part of this plan appears to have succeeded, for Miss Lawson became the object of the King’s admi¬ ration, whose attentions to her were so public, that they are frequently alluded to, and the Portsmouth faction was thrown into some consternation. But it also appears that on this occasion Charles met with very unusual resistance, and that Miss Lawson was not easily won,—if, indeed, she was won at all, of which there is no existing proof. There is a coarse political satire of that time, (about 1674,) quoted by Sir William Musgrave, in which all the celebrated beauties of the court are represented as contending for the post of “ Maitresse en titreT Miss Lawson is mentioned among the rest, but she is rejected, by reason of her “ too great modesty.” There are other contemporary songs, epigrams, satires, worthless in them¬ selves, where Miss Lawson’s name occurs. She is never alluded to but as one hitherto innocent, and exposed to danger from the intrigues of her aunt, and the profligate pursuit of the King. The following passage will serve as a specimen: “ Yet Lawsou, thou wliose arbitrary sway, Our King must, more than we do him, obey. Who shortly shall of easy Charles’s breast, And of his empire be at once possest ; * He fought a duel with the invincible Jermyn, on account of that “angel-devil” Lady Shrewsbury. 110 MRS. LAWSON. Though it indeed appear a glorious thing To command power and to enslave a King, Yet ere the false appearance has betray’d A soft, believing, unexperienced maid, Ah ! yet consider ere it be too late. How near you stand upon the brink of fate.” * Sir William Musgrave adds, “ that the five sisters became nuns at York,” and this is all that can be discovered concerning the original of this portrait. If we may believe in the existence of innocence, which even slander appears to have respected, and satire itself to have compassionated ; and if we can suppose it possible that such innocence could be maintained in a corrupt court, sur¬ rounded not only by temptations, but by the most villainous snares, we ought to deem Miss Lawson acquitted, notwithstanding the evil society in which she appears. The picture, which is by Wissing, is not in itself eminently lovely or in¬ teresting ; but as one of the Windsor Beauties, it could not well have been omitted in this collection. It is very beautifully painted, and in the face there is an expression of mildness and goodness, which agrees with the few particu¬ lars which have been collected, relative to that Mrs. Lawson whom I sup¬ pose to have been the subject of the portrait. * Musgrave’s Biographical Adversaria, M.S. No. 5723, British Museum. .Lond^jn .Puhlt^fi^cl Oy Col^iirru,^Iipjid/y May -i. 1831. •V i 1 \K 1 % • * / .. THE COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD. “ Extremely mad the man I surely deem, ' That weens with watch and hard restraint to stay A woman’s will that is disposed to go astray. It is not iron bands, nor hundred eyes. Nor brazen walls, nor many wakeful spies. That can withold her wilful, wandering feet. But fast good will and gentle courtesies.” Spenser. Lady Elizabeth Butler, eldest daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Ormond, and sister of the gallant and accomplished Lord Ossory, was born at Kilkenny, on the 29th of June 1640. Her birth had nearly cost the life of her excellent mother, who had scarcely recovered from the effects of a long and dangerous confinement, when the civil wars broke out; the events which followed, and which so deeply involved in their consequences the happiness and fortunes of the Ormond family, need not be related here. The child¬ hood of Lady Elizabeth was passed in scenes of tumult and constant vicissi¬ tudes, but always under the care and protection of her mother ; at length, her parents were driven from their country and obliged to seek a refuge upon the Continent, where the Duchess resided for some time with her young family, principally at Caen in Normandy. The marriage between Lady Elizabeth Butler and the young Earl of Chesterfield was arranged at the Hague in 1659, and was to have taken place at the same time with that of her brother. Lord Ossory; but it appears that the Duchess just at that time was obliged to give up the portion intended for her daughter to aid the King in his necessities: the exact date of the marriage is uncertain, but it was probably solemnized at the Hague in the beginning of the year 1660. Lady Elizabeth was then about nineteen, and the young Earl in his twenty-fifth year: a marriage so suitable in age, in rank, and in personal 112 THE COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD. accomplishments, was rendered miserable, by circumstances over which neither had any control. Lord Chesterfield had previously married Lady Anne Percy, the daughter of Algernon, Earl of Northumberland ; she died very young in 1654, leaving him a widower at the age of twenty: he afterwards travelled, and spent two years in the various courts of Italy, whence he returned in 1659, and received the hand of Lady Elizabeth, according to a family compact between his mother the Countess of Chesterfield and the Duke of Ormond. He is de¬ scribed by Hamilton as a handsome man, without any advantages of figure, as he was neither tall nor graceful; but the beauty of his head and features com¬ pensated for other deficiencies. He was accomplished and intelligent, skilled in riding, fencing, dancing, and in all the exercises then thought necessary to form a complete gentleman ; he was courteous to his inferiors, but haughty and ceremonious in the society of his equals. A temper, naturally inclined to jea¬ lousy and suspicion, had not been amended by a long residence in Italy : the profligacy which there prevailed universally, had subverted his own principles, and implanted in his mind certain prejudices and opinions, very derogatory to women in general. His young bride, on the contrary, had been educated in the bosom of domestic happiness ; she came to him fresh from the tuition and ex¬ ample of an amiable and dignified mother, and she appears at first to have re¬ garded her husband with a timid and fond admiration, which a little attention and devotion on his part, would have converted into an attachment for life. Whether he had left some Italian love beyond the Alps, or had already begun to devote himself to Lady Castlemaine, whose first and most favoured lover he is said to have been, cannot now be known. It is only certain, that he met the affection of his young and charming wife with a negligent, frigid indifference, which astonished, pained, and humiliated her : finding, however, that all her tenderness was lavished in vain, and that her attempts to win him from a rival, rather increased than diminished his aversion, mingled pique and dis¬ gust seem to have succeeded to her first affection and admiration, and their conjugal arrangements were in this melancholy and unsettled state when the Restoration took place, and Lady Chesterfield accompanied her husband and her family to England. The Duchess of Ormond was not an indifferent spectator of her daugh¬ ter’s domestic misery. It appears from a very respectful and submissive letter from the Earl to his mother-in-law, that she had interfered kindly but dis- THE COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD. 113 erectly, with a hope of healing all disquiet. To reconcile himself with his wife’s parents Lord Chesterfield took her to Ireland in 1662; they spent three months at Kilkenny Castle, and there Lady Chesterfield witnessed the marriage of her sister. Lady Mary Butler, with Lord Cavendish, afterwards the first Duke of Devonshire. The King hated Chesterfield on account of the favour with which Lady Castlemaine had regarded him; but the Earl had claims on the royal atten¬ tion which could not be overlooked. On the arrival of Catherine of Bra- ganza, he was created chambei’lain of her household, and in virtue of his office, was lodged in Whitehall. Thus thrown into the very midst of a gay court. Lady Chesterfield, from a neglected wife, living in privacy, and even poverty, became suddenly a reigning beauty ; captivating, and piquante, rather than regularly handsome, there was something in the archness and brilliance of her wit, in the elegance of her small, but perfect figure, and in the exquisite neatness of her person and dress, which distinguished her from the half-attired, languishing, flaunting beauties around her. Only Miss Ha¬ milton rivalled her in vivacity and mental acquirements, and only Miss Stewart surpassed her in charms. She was immediately surrounded with professed adorers, and strange to -tell, one of the first who sighed for her in vain, was her own husband. Lord Chesterfield found his charming wife universally admired, while the vulgarity and arrogance of Lady Castlemaine became every day more ap¬ parent and more intolerable from the force of contrast; he began to wonder, and with reason, at his own blindness and indifference to so many charms, and his passion at length rose to such a height, that, casting aside the fear of ri¬ dicule, he endeavoured to convince her by the most public attentions, that his feelings towards her were entirely changed. Unfortunately, it was now too late: the heart he had wounded, chilled, and rejected, either could not, or ^would not be recalled; he found himself slighted in his turn, and treated with the most provoking and the most determined coldness. A spirit of co¬ quetry, a dangerous love of general admiration, and all the intoxication of gra¬ tified vanity, now filled that bosom which had come to him pure, warm, and innocent, and which he had once occupied to exclusion of almost every other thought and feeling ; the punishment was cruel, but scarce more than he de¬ served. Finding that all his advances were repelled, he was seized with jea- Q 114 THE COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD. lousy and rage; he felt assured that a transition so complete from extreme tenderness and trembling solicitude to the most perfect indifference, could only be caused by some favoured lover, and his suspicions fixed at once on the Duke of York, not without apparent reason, for the Duke’s admiration of his wife had been very unequivocally displayed. But a more dangerous rival, wholly unsuspected, existed in George Hamilton, the younger brother of Miss Hamilton, and first-cousin to Lady Chesterfield. Hamilton, either out of contradiction, or etourderie, had been amusing himself and alarming all his friends, by offering his assiduities to Lady Cas- tlemaine, then in the height of her favour and her power. But Lady Ches¬ terfield, having in a manner, opposed herself with peculiar and feminine spite to the woman who had withdrawn her husband’s affections from her in the first year of her marriage, and whom she every way detested, was not con¬ tent with the legitimate triumph of winning back her husband from her tram¬ mels, she resolved to deprive Lady Castlemaine of her new admirer, and to add George Hamilton to her own train of adorers. This laudable resolve was not very difficult to execute, for Hamilton was the most inflammable of men ; he was only “ le petit cousin,” and she had constant opportunities of meeting him, either in the society of his sister, or at the apartments of his aunt, the Duchess of Ormond. He could not see with impunity one of the loveliest women of the time; he began to waver in his allegiance to Lady Castle¬ maine, and while he yet hesitated, one or two encouraging glances from the blue eyes of Lady Chesterfield brought him at once to her feet. We should not forget, while reading De Grammont’s Memoirs, that they were written by the brother of George Hamilton, who considered himself as a betrayed and injured lover, and whose account of Lady Chesterfield’s con¬ duct was likely to be coloured by his own exasperated feelings : notwith¬ standing the conspicuous figure she makes in those Memoirs, and the malicious gaiety with which her coquetry and her indiscretion are exposed, I can find no direct accusation against her virtue either there or elsewhere. Pepys, who was likely to hear all the scandal of the court, mentions her ever with respect, as “ that most virtuous lady yet he never speaks of her husband without some slighting expression or discreditable allusion. In the present case. Lord Chesterfield had placed himself beyond the pale of sympathy; Pepys’ Diary, vol. i. p. 177—194. THE COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD. 115 his former treatment of his wife was so well known at court, that his jealous airs exposed him to universal ridicule. At this time it happened that the guitar-player Francisco, (mentioned in the introduction), had rendered that instrument so much the fashion, that all the beauties and courtiers affected to cultivate it with enthusiasm; and in the midst of this universal raclerie. Lady Chesterfield was as proud of possessing the finest guitar in England, as her brother Lord Arran, of being confessedly the best player next to Francisco himself. The Guitariste had composed a certain sarabande, which the King greatly admired and patronised, and very soon nothing but this sarabande was heard at court. The Duke of York wished to learn it from Lord Arran, and he being resolved to give the sara¬ bande every possible advantage, invited the Duke to accompany him to his sister’s apartments, that he might hear it performed on this wonderful guitar, which was the envy of all the fair amateur players in the court. In all this there was certainly nothing extraordinary ; but Lord Chester¬ field, possessed by jealousy and suspicion, saw in this rendezvous nothing less than a scheme to accomplish his dishonour. While the two musicians were practising the sarabande, and Lady Chesterfield did the honours of her cele¬ brated guitar, her husband sat watching the trio with “jealous leer malign,” and internally resolving that nothing should induce him to leave the room ; but in the midst of these agreeable reflections, an order arrived from the Queen to attend her majesty immediately in his quality of Lord Chamberlain, for the purpose of introducing the Muscovite ambassadors to her presence. The unhappy Earl, execrating in his secret soul all guitars, ambassadors, and officious brothers-in-law, was under the necessity of obeying the royal com¬ mands, and had not been ten minutes in the Queen’s presence-chamber, when, to his confusion and dismay, he beheld the Earl of Arran standing opposite to him, and unaccompanied by the Duke of York. The moment he was released, he hastened home, and without waiting for any explanation, gave way at once to all the transports of jealous rage. The poor guitar was the first victim of his fury; it was broken into ten thousand pieces. After this exploit, the first person he met on leaving his house, was George Hamilton, upon whom his suspicions had never rested for a moment; in fact, it had been Hamilton's study to persuade him that all his assiduities were directed to Lady Castlemaine. To him, therefore, he confided his griefs; exaggerating the coquetry of his wife, the attentions of the Duke, and the intermeddling Q2 116 THE COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD. of Lord Arran. He related at length the curious scene of the has verts, when the fair Stewart, in presence of the whole court, suffered her beautiful ankle to be produced, in emulation of that of Lady Chesterfield: while the Duke of York stood aloof, refusing to admire, and declaring, Avith many a gallant oath, that there was “ point de salut sans les has verts.” Now, as Lady Chesterfield had introduced this fashion, her husband con¬ ceived that the Duke’s speech could admit of but one interpretation ;—Othello’s handkerchief was not more conclusive. Hamilton began to think so too, and to take a more than friendly interest in the subject ; and Chesterfield, im¬ puting his indignation to a disinterested sympathy with his own wrongs, continued to pour his complaints into his ear, till Hamilton was driven to desperation. He began to suspect that Lady Chesterfield was merely trifling with him ; a supposition which, considering her character, was not improbable; and he was convinced that the Duke of York was a preferred lover, which assuredly was not a necessary consequence. In a fit of angry impatience, he advised Lord Chesterfield to carry his wife off to his country-seat. The poor Countess was immediately conveyed down to Bretby by her infuriated husband, and Hamilton for a while triumphed in his vengeance.* The whole of the circumstances soon became public; the lady Avas gene¬ rally pitied, and none believed that her husband had any just cause for the tyranny he had exercised on this occasion. Dorset, Etheredge, Roches¬ ter, and all the rhyming Avits of the court, pursued Lord Chesterfield Avith showers of epigrams. The famous sarabande, which had been the first occasion of this terrible fracas, was set by the Chevalier de Grammont to new words, bitterly reflecting on the conduct of this “ Mari loup-garou,” and * Tliis story, which is related at length in the Memoirs of De Grammont with infinite grace and liveliness, but in a tone very unfavourable to Lady Chesterfield, is thus, with more brevity, and pro¬ bably with more truth, narrated by honest Mr.Pepys, in his Diary. “This day, by Dr. Clarke, I was told the occasion of my Lord Chesterfield’s going and taking his lady (my Lord Ormond’s daughter) from court. It seems he not only hath been jealous of the Duke of A ork, but did find them two talking together, though there were others in the room, and the lady, by all opinions, a mcst good, virtuous woman. He the next day (of which the Duke was warned by somebody that saw the passion my Lord Chesterfield was in the night before) went and told the Duke how much he did apprehend himself wronged, in his picking out his lady in the whole court to be the subject of his dishonour ; which the Duke did answer with great calmness, not seeming to understand the reason of complaint; and that was all that passed : but my Lord did presently pack his Lady into the country in Derbyshire, near the Peake ; which is become a proverb at court, to send a man’s tvife to the Peake when she vexes him.”—p. 194. THE COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD. 117 soon the whole court had them by heart; they were sung universally, and (as Count Hamilton gravely adds) “ toutes les dames les voulurent avoir pour les apprendre a leurs enfants.’’ Lady Chesterfield never again appeared at Court; and learning to whom she was really indebted for the severity exercised towards her, (the justice of which she was far from admitting,) she vowed vengeance against George Hamilton, and forthwith proceeded to execute her purpose with all the cunning of an intriguante, and all a woman’s wit and wilfulness. She penned a long and artful letter to Hamilton, gave him a most eloquent and heart¬ rending description of her miserable state, of the melancholy prison, sur¬ rounded by rocks, precipices, and morasses, in which she was confined ; of the ruthless tyranny of her husband, now her gaoler, and of her own re¬ pentance. She informed him that the Earl was under the necessity of leaving home for a week, and conjured him to seize that opportunity to visit her, and listen to her justification. Hamilton, already devoured by regrets for her absence, and remorse for his own share in causing it, received this insidious letter with transport, and fell at once into the snare. He immediately mounted his horse, and rode post down to Bretby. It was towards the close of a severe winter, and a hard frost prevailed. He passed a whole night under the windows of Bretby Hall, almost congealed with cold, without receiving the least sign of recognition or compassion. On returning to the little village inn where he was lodged incognito, he learned that Lord Ches¬ terfield was not absent—nor likely to be so; and on looking round him he beheld, instead of a prison, a splendid palace, and instead of a horrible soli¬ tude, a magnificent and cultivated domain, which, till a recent possessor levelled its fine woods, was considered one of the most beautiful seats in England. He perceived how grossly he had been beguiled, and soon discovered that he was only the propitiatory victim in the reconciliation which had just taken place between the Countess and her husband. On his return to London he would willingly have suppressed the story ot this luckless expedition; but Lady Chesterfield was not inclined to make a mystery of the revenge she had taken on her rash and too officious lover; the story reached the King’s ears, and he insisted upon learning the details from Hamilton himself, who was called upon to relate his own I'idiculous adventure in presence of the whole court; so that the lady’s vengeance was in every respect complete, and, perhaps, not unmerited. 118 THE COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD. Lady Chesterfield’s retirement (or banishment) took place in 1662; about a year afterwards she gave birth to a daughter, and thenceforward her time was spent entirely at Bretby, if not happily, at least irreproachably. She died in 1665, before she had completed her 25th year. Her infant daughter, • Lady Elizabeth Stanhope, was educated by her grandmother, the excellent Duchess of Ormond, and afterwards married John Lyon, Fourth Earl of Strathmore. After the premature death of his beautiful and unhappy wife, Lord Ches¬ terfield married Lady Elizabeth Dormer, and died in 1713, at the age of eighty. There is a tradition relating to the death of Lady Chesterfield which cannot be passed without remark, as it is to be met with in many works, and is even alluded to by Horace Walpole. It is said that her husband, having caused her to take the sacrament upon her innocence respecting any intimacy with the Duke of York, bribed his chaplain to put poison into the sacramental cup, and that she died in consequence. This horrible accusation rests upon no proof whatever; it is only certain that it was current during the life of the Earl, and even believed by some of his own family. Lord Chesterfield’s son by his third wife married Lady Gertrude Saville, daughter of the Marquis of Halifax. The Marquis and the old Earl of Chesterfield quarrelled, and the latter obliged Lord Stanhope to bring his wife to Lichfield, breaking off all inter¬ course between the families. Lady Stanhope had always on her toilette her father’s work, “ Advice to a Daughter.” Her father-in-law took it up one day, and wrote on the title-page, “ Labour in vain.” On her side the lady, not to be outdone in impertinence, made her servant, out of livery, carry in his pocket a bottle of wine, another of water, and a gold cup ; and whenever she dined or supped in company with her father-in-law, either at home or abroad, she never would drink but of those liquors from her servant’s hand. It was a hint to the Earl and the company present that the crime which his Lordship was suspected of having perpetrated, by a saci'ed beverage, was full in the recollection of his daughter-in-law. The most surprising part of the story is that the old Earl endured this. In the correspendence of this Earl of Chesterfield, recently published, there are two letters to the Countess, in a tone more polite and sententious, I THE COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD. 119 than affectionate. It appears certain that he never succeeded in winning back her tenderness ; and he has recorded her death in his memorandum- book, without a single remark or expression of regret. The portrait is engraved, for the first time, after the beautiful picture by Lely, in the possession of Mr. Fountaine, of Narford. It is the same which is' mentioned by Granger, and which was copied in crayons for Horace Walpole. Its authenticity is beyond a doubt. THE COUNTESS OF ROCHESTER. Such her beauty as no arts Have enrich’d with borrow’d grace, Her high birth no pride imparts, For she blushes in her place ; Folly boasts a glorious blood ;— She is noblest, being good. Habington. Lady Henrietta Boyle, Countess of Rochester, was the youngest daughter of Richard, second Earl of Cork, and first Earl of Burlington. Her mother was the Lady Elizabeth, sole daughter and heiress of Henry Clifford, Earl of Cumberland. Thus she was the grand-daughter of that extraordinary man known in history as the Great Earl of Cork, who went to Ireland a needy adventurer in the reign of Elizabeth, and lived to see himself and five of his sons Peers of England or of Ireland ; by the mother’s side she Avas descended from one of the proudest, most illustrious, and most powerful families among the old Feudal Aristocracy of England,—the Cliffords of Cumberland. The Earl of Burlington, (for he was generally distinguished by his English title,) had been a firm Loyalist, and at the Restoration, to which he mainly contributed, he found himself high in favour at court, to which his four daughters were immediately introduced. The eldest became Countess of Thanet, the second married the celebrated Earl of Roscommon, the thii’d became the wife of Lord Hinchinbroke, afterwards Earl of Sandwich. The youngest, who was also the most beautiful, was sought in marriage by Lau¬ rence Hyde, the second son of Lord Chancellor Clarendon. The marriage of Anne Hyde with the Duke of York,—the power and talents ■a' r f t , % ' % * Y ■ r r f t . ■ V- ■ < r. i X *» 0 f \ '^r\ V. ^ ■ f. * T . -r ^ . « Teunied bv .Vz> Lely. Sn^raveet by J.Tb^im^'en. rFfh;.’^/.: - r ■- i Painud by W^ina. En^ritved by J.7'homi>on. /,. hy i 'ol/?/un S- Autf 'V vs : ,■> ‘ V ■■ f / . ( , < ,. » k MRS. NOTT. 135 the said Dame Renommee deserves to have her trumpet broken, and her wings stripped from her shoulders. But then, it may be asked, is not the praise that waits on feminine virtue far too delicate to be trusted to such a brazen vehicle ? more fitted to the poet’s lyre than the trumpet of fame ? and is it not better, while gazing on that beautiful face, which looks all innocence, to lose ourselves in delightful fancies and possibilities which none can disprove, rather than trace the brand of vulgar scandal on that brow;—scandal which we cannot refute, nor those soft sealed lips repel ? Is it not better to admire we know not who, than turn away with disgust, as we do from the portraits of a Shrews¬ bury or a Southesk, whose beauty shocks us like the colours of an adder ! This fair creature, with her veil, and her book, and her flowers, and the little village church in the back-ground, looks far too good and demure for a maid of honour—I mean for a maid of honour of Charles’s Court; for, heaven forbid that we should reflect on the honourable virginity of our own days ! and yet the whole of the information which has been obtained amounts to this; that Mrs. Nott was one of the Maids of Honour to Queen Catherine, and nothing more can be known of the original. As for the picture, it is some satisfaction to know, while we gaze upon it, that slander has never breathed upon those features to sully them to our fancy ; that sorrow which comes to all, can never come there; that she shall keep her lustrous eyes, while those which now look upon her are closed for ever; and smile, still smile on, for other ages—“ in midst of other woes than oursand this is something to dwell upon with pleasure, when all the rest is silence. The portrait has always been one of the most admired of all the Windsor Beauties, and is painted with great sweetness and truth of colouring. The drapery is crimson, relieved with a white veil. The vase of flowers in the back-ground is finished with a delicacy worthy of Verelst. :->V THE COUNTESS OF SOUTHESK. -How should woman tell Of woman’s shame, and not with tears ?—She fell ! Mrs. Hemans. When the accompanying portrait was first copied and engraved for pub¬ lication, it was supposed to represent Frances Brooke, Lady Whitmore, the younger sister of Lady Denham ; by which name the portrait has been tra¬ ditionally known in the gallery at Windsor. But on examining the duplicate which exists at Narford, in the possession of Mr. Fountaine, and referring to the authority of Horace Walpole and Granger, there can be little doubt that it represents a woman much more notorious,—Anne, Countess of Southesk. By this title the picture has always been distinguished at Narford since the days of Sir Andrew Fountaine, the first possessor, and the cotemporary of the original; and by this name it was recognised as an original by Horace Walpole. The copy made in crayons by his order, is now at Strawberry Hill, and noted in his catalogue as that Lady Southesk who figures so dis¬ gracefully in De Grammont’s Memoirs. To take up the history of this woman seriously would be a waste of indig¬ nation ; the little that is known of her we could wish to be less—and it shall be told as gently as possible. Lady Anne Hamilton was the eldest daughter of William, second Duke of Hamilton, who, like all his family, was distinguished in the civil wars for his devoted and chivalrous loyalty. He lost his life at the battle of Wor¬ cester, fighting for an ungrateful and worthless King; and his wife Lady Elizabeth Maxwell, (the daughter of the Earl of Dirletown,) whom he had married very young, in 1638, was left a widow with four daughters,—the eldest, Lady Anne, being then about eleven years old. Where she spent her younger years,—how and by whom she was edu- t t-J ' d- ^'f'' - THE COUNTESS OF SOUTHESK. 137 catcd, cannot now be ascertained. The early loss of her noble father seems to have been her first misfortune, and the cause of all the faults, follies, and miseries which succeeded. The Duke of Hamilton had been distinguished in the Court of Chai'les the First for his accomplishments and integrity ; he was so remarkable for his love of truth, that it was said, “ that candour seemed in him not so much the effect of virtue as of nature, since from his infancy up¬ wards he had never been known to lie on any temptation whatever.” Burnet, who gives this testimony to the noblest and first of virtues, adds, that he was “ handsome, witty, considerate, brave, and generous.”* He married young, against his own inclinations, and merely in obedience to the wishes and views of his brother, whom he idolized ;-f- but being married, he became an exem¬ plary husband and father, and the gentle virtues of Lady Elizabeth appear to have won at length his entire confidence and affection. In a letter addressed to his wife on the eve of the battle of Worcester, be gives her the most en¬ dearing appellations that tenderness and sorrow could dictate in such a moment: “ I recommend to you,” he says, “ the care and education of our poor children ; let your great work be to make them early acquainted with God and their duty, and keep all light and idle company from them.” After his death this letter was found in his pocket-book stained with his blood. How far his last and most affecting adjuration was attended to by his widow, we do not know, but we know that in the case of one of his children it proved fruitless. The death of her father was not only an irreparable misfortune to Lady Anne, as it deprived her of a guardian and monitor, but it made an essential difference in her worldly prospects; although the titles and estates of the Hamilton family were transmitted in the female line, she was passed over, and the honours devolved on her cousin, the eldest daughter of James, the first Duke of Hamilton, who became Duchess of Hamilton in her own right, while Lady Anne was destined to comparative insignificance. Still the high rank and virtues of her father, and the irreproachable conduct of her mother, render it difficult to account for the unguarded situation in which she was early placed, and her degenerate lapse from the virtues of her family ; the very first notice we have of Lady Anne Hamilton, when she could not be more than eighteen, exhibits her as the friend and companion of Lady Castlemaine, • Histoiy of the Dukes of Hamilton. t His brother was James first Duke of Hamilton, beheaded by the Parliament during the civil wars. There is a portrait and memoir of William Duke of Hamilton, the father of Lady Soiithesk, in Lodge’s Portraits of Illustrious Persons, T 138 THE COUNTESS OF SOUTHESK. (then Mrs. Palmer,) and not only involved, as her confidante, in her intrigue with Lord Chesterfield, but most probably at the same time the object of his attentions.* She was then apparently a beautiful giddy flirt, prepared by the lessons and example of Lady Castlemaine for every species of mischief; and there is too much reason to believe that when she attracted the notice of Lord Carnegie, the eldest son of the Earl of Southesk, she had ceased to be worthy of the hand or name of any man delicate on the score of female propriety or jealous of his own honour. The family of Carnegie (or Kerneguy,) is now I believe extinct in all its branches. It was then one of the oldest in Scotland, and traced its origin to a noble Hungarian, who was naturalized in the country in the reign of Malcolm Canmore. James Carnegie, second Earl of Southesk, was a loyal and devoted adherent to the fortunes of Charles the First, and is also honour¬ ably mentioned for his general worth and integrity ; his son Robert, Lord Carnegie, spent several years on the Continent, and during the govern¬ ment of Cromwell resided at Paris, where he was much distinguished by Louis XIV., who gave him a commission in the Scots Guards. He is described as a man of fine natural parts and graceful manners, improved by travelling but under these superficial advantages he concealed deep, dark, malignant passions, and a temper at once dissembling and vindictive; he had besides, a predilection for bull-baiting, for the bear-garden, and the cock-pit, which we cannot reconcile with our ideas of an accomplished gentleman, even of that day. His marriage with Lady Anne Hamilton was celebrated soon after the Restoration, but the date is not mentioned in any of the old peerages. After her appearance at court. Lady Carnegie plunged at once into every species of dissipation, nor did the birth of two sons in the first years of her marriage, check the career of thoughtless levity, and worse than levity, to which she abandoned herself. Her husband, meantime, was not gifted with the patience of a martyr ; and though jealousy was not the fashion in Charles the Second’s time, Lord Carnegie, the courtier, the travelled man of the world, after having committed the folly of marrying a wild, vain, unprincipled girl, liad the still greater folly to be jealous of his wife, and to betray it to the scoffing court. While he was smarting under a thousand agonies,—not indeed doubting his dishonour, but only uncertain which of his wife’s numerous admirers he should select for the especial object of his hatred and vengeance,— * Vide Correspondence of Philip second Earl of Chesterfield. t Vide Douglas’s Scottish Peerage. THE COUNTESS OF SOUTHESK. 139 he was summoned down to Scotland to attend the death-bed of his father, and while he was thus engaged, Lady Carnegie seized the opportunity to add the Duke of York to the list of her lovers. During her husband’s absence, she appears to have so far braved opinion as to exhibit her Royal captive everywhere in open triumph; but in a few weeks Lord Carnegie re-appeared with the title of Earl of Southesk, an ac¬ cession of dignity which his fairer half would most willingly have dispensed with, if she could also have dispensed with his very incommodious return. It now became necessary to keep some measures of decency, and the Duke never visited her without being accompanied by some of the gentlemen of his retinue by way of form. On one of these occasions he was attended by his Irish friend, Dick Talbot,* then only distinguished for his loyalty, his love of pleasure, his reckless good-nature, and hair-brained precipitancy. While the Duke was conversing with Lady Southesk, Talbot was placed at a window, as sentinel. He had not been there many minutes before a carriage drew up at the door, and out stepped the husband. Talbot knew him well as Lord Carnegie, but having just returned from abroad, he had no idea that his former companion had lately changed his name—no recollection of his hereditary title; and it never occurred to him that the Lady Southesk, whom his patron was entertaining, was the wife of his old friend Carnegie. On seeing him alight, he flew to prevent his entrance, telling him with a significant laugh, and a warm shake of the hand, that if he too was come to visit the beautiful Lady Southesk, he had only to go seek amusement elsewhere, for that the Duke of York was just then engaged in paying his compliments to the lady, and had placed him there expressly to prevent any mal-a-piopos interruption. Southesk, instead of forcing his way into his own house, and avenging on the spot his injured honour, was so utterly confounded by the cool impudence and obvious blunder of the unlucky Talbot, that he suffered himself to be fairly turned out by the shoulders, and sneaked off with a submission, partly the effect of surprise, partly of policy ; for he had not courage to brave openly the heir-presumptive to the crown. The history of this ludicrous adven¬ ture was speedily spread through the whole court ; it became the subject of ballads, lampoons, and epigrams innumerable, and covered the unfortunate Earl with a degree of contempt and ridicule, which added to his shame and despair. * Afterwards Duke of Tyrconnel. T 2 140 THE COUNTESS OF SOUTHESK. Yet even this public exposure and its consequences did not banish Lady Southesk from society; she continued for some years to haunt the court: she sought at the gaming-table a relief from ennui, and endeavoured to conceal by art the ravages which dissipation, rather than time, had made in her once lovely face. Pepys mentions her among the beauties of the day as parading her charms in the park and the theatre; and to use his own coarse, but forcible expression, “ devilishly painted.” Her latter years were embittered by sorrows, against which a woman’s heart, however depraved, is seldom en¬ tirely hardened. In her days of triumphant beauty, she had neglected her children, and in age they became her torment. Her eldest son. Lord Carnegie, treated her with coldness, and seemed to enter into his father’s wrongs and feelings towards her; her youngest and favourite son, William Carnegie, a youth of great beauty of person and splendid talents, was killed in a duel at the age of nineteen. He had been sent to Paris to complete his education, and there meeting with young Tallemache, the son of the Duchess of Lauder¬ dale,* they quarrelled about a profligate actress, and in this unworthy cause William Carnegie perished, in the spring and blossom of his years. Lady Southesk died before her husband, and did not long survive the loss of her son, which occurred in 1681 ; but the date of her death is not mentioned. Lord Southesk died in 1688, and was succeeded by his son Charles, Lord Car¬ negie, who, like all his family, was devotedly attached to the House of Stuart. After the Revolution he never visited the English Court, but continued to reside in Scotland, either at Kinnaird in Forfar, or at the Castle of Leuchars, the ancient seats of his family. He died in 1699, and left a son, the fifth and last Earl of Southesk. Lady Southesk had three sisters, who all married in Scotland, and ap¬ parently passed their lives there. The eldest. Lady Elizabeth Hamilton, be¬ came Countess of Glencairn; Lady Mary married Lord Calendar, and Lady Margaret became the wife of William Blair, of Blair. This picture is not very brilliantly or powerfully painted; the girlish and almost rustic simplicity of the face, and the demure colour of the drapery, which is of a dark lavender tint, strangely belie the character of the woman to whom it is here attributed; but for reasons already stated, I have little doubt that it is really the portrait of the Countess of Southesk. * She was Countess of Dysart in her own right. Fa^irueA by Suysman.. Fnora.vtd by T. Wri^h^ /•'■r.zion.. Fudli- /y^'/ by r'o/Juirn 9 SUSAN ARMINE LADY BELLASYS. “ Bonne et Belle assez.’’ Motto of the Belasyse family. This picture, which is the most striking and splendid of the whole series known as the Windsor Beauties, is, unhappily, one of the disputed portraits. At Windsor it is traditionally known as Elinor Lady Byron ;* but, on the authority of Horace Walpole, Granger, and Sir William Musgrave, all three well versed in the biography of our peerage, as well as in pictorial and de- mestic antiquities, it is generally supposed to represent Susan Armine, “ the widow of Sir Henry Bellasys, and mistress of the Duke of York.'”f * Elinor Needham, daughter of Lord Kilmurrey, married at eleven years old to Peter Warburton, Esq., who died before she was fifteen, and after his death the wife of the first Lord Byron, is described, in Sir Peter Leycester’s Antiquities of Chester, as “ a person of such comely carriage and presence, handsomeness, sweet disposition, honour, and general respect in the world, that she hath scarce left her equal behind.” But Sir Peter was personally the friend of the lady, and connected with her family, and his testimony is rather incorrect and partial. The fact is, that this Lady Byron became, after the death of her husband, the mistress of Charles 11. during his exile ; and, avarice being her ruling passion, she contrived to extort from him, even in the midst of his distresses, upwards of 15,000L in money and jewels, &c. She was dismissed for the sake of Lady Castlemaine, before the King’s return, and died at Chester, within two years after the Restoration. It is not very probable that the portrait of this lady should find its way into the gallery of Court Beauties of the time of Charles 11. It may be added, that tfce picture has been attributed by some to Vandyke, by others to Lely, by others to Huysman. If Lady Byron sat to V'andyke, it must have been in her childhood ; if to Lely or to Huysman, it must have been abroad, or after the Restoration, both circumstances equally improbable. Among the family pictures at Tabley (the seat of the Ley- cesters,) there is a very fine full-length portrait, nearly resembling this at Windsor : it is there entitled Lady Byron, and attributed to Lely. On the whole it is quite impossible to reconcile the very contradictory evidence relative to the person and the picture, but by attributing the portrait at once to Lady Bellasys, on the most probable grounds and the most credible testimony. f Horace Walpole; “ Anecdotes of Painting,” Granger’s Biographical History of England, and Musgrave’s MS. notes to Granger, British Museum. 142 LADY BELLASYS. Methinks if this magnificent-looking creature could speak, she would cer¬ tainly exclaim against this last disreputable and unmerited title, or insist that it should be understood with a reservation in her favour :—but since those lips, though stained with no “ Stygian hue,” are silenced by death, and can only look their scorn, we must plead, in defence of Lady Bellasys, that if the circumstances of her life gave some colour to the slander which has been un¬ advisedly stamped on her fair, open brow, she estimated, as a woman ought to estimate, her own and her sex’s honour! Susan Armine was the daughter of Sir William Armine, of Osgodby, in Lincolnshire. Her mother, Mary Talbot, was a niece of the Earl of Shrews¬ bury, and a lady distinguished in her time for her various learning, as well as for her gentle and feminine virtues and extensive charities.* It appears that Susan Armine was their only child and heiress, and that she was married vei'y young, according to the fashion of those times, to Henry Bellasys, the son and heir of Lord Bellasys, and nephew of Lord Fauconberg.-|- Lord Bellasys, who had greatly signalised himself in the royal cause, became, after the Restoration, the friend and favourite of the Duke of York; and his son Henry was created a knight of the Bath, in recompense for his own gal¬ lantry and his father’s loyalty. From the few particulars which have been preserved relating to Sir Henry Bellasys, we may pronounce him to have been eminently brave and generous, but of a I'asb and fiery disposition. His headlong impetuosity first involved him in a luckless mistake, which led to the murder of an innocent man,;}; and afterwards occasioned his own death, in the prime of life, and within a few years after his marriage. The circumstances, which form, perhaps, the severest satire against duelling that ever was penned, and might well excite a smile but for the tragical result, are thus related.— Sir Henry, after a late revel, was conversing apart with his dear and sworn friend Tom Porter, then Groom of the Chamber to the King. As they spoke with animation, and rather loud, some one standing by asked if they were quarrelling ? “ Quarrel¬ ling !” exclaimed Sir Henry, turning round, “ No !—I would have you to * Lady Armine died in 1674. It is said that slie founded three hospitals for the sick and tlie poor, one of wliich (at Burton Grange, in Yorkshire,) still exists. f In the reign of Charles II. the name was spelt indifferently Bellasses and Bellasys, but more recently Belasyse. The title of Fauconberg became extinct within the last few years. J See Pepys, vol. i. p. 133. LADY BELLASYS. 143 know that I never quarrel but I strike!” “How!” said Porter, “strike! I would I could see the man that dare give me a blow !” Sir Henry, flushed with recent intemperance, and only sensible to the defiance implied in these words, instantly struck him. They drew, of course, but were immediately separated by their friends. Porter left the house, and, meeting Dryden, told him, in a wild manner, what had just passed, and that he must fight Sir Henry Bellasys presently, for, if he waited till the morrow, he “ knew they would be friends again, and the disgrace of the blow would rest upon bim.” He borrowed Dryden’s servant, whom he ordered to watch for Sir Henry, and give him notice which way he went. He then followed his car¬ riage, stopped it in Covent Garden, and called on his friend to alight. They drew their swords, and fought on the spot, some of their acquaintance and others looking on, till Sir Henry Bellasys, finding himself severely wounded, staggered, and had nearly fallen, but, sustaining himself by an effort, he called to Tom Porter, and desired him to fly. “ Tom,” said he affectionately, “ thou hast hurt me; but I will make a shift to stand on my legs till thou mayst withdraw, for I would not have thee troubled for what thou hast done!” He then kissed and embraced him : but Porter, unable to speak, could only show him that he too was wounded and bleeding. In this state they were cai’ried home. Sir Henry Bellasys died of his wounds within four days after the encounter; and thus, in consequence of a foolish and drunken outrage, perished a young man of high hopes, noble birth, generous feeling, and approved gallantry, by the hand of the man he most loved, and for whom he would willingly have shed his blood. This extraordinary duel, which even then excited more ridicule than sympathy,* occurred in 1667. Of Lady Bellasys, married so young, and so early left a widow, we do not hear at this time. She was the mother of one son, an infant; and it appears that she lived in retirement for some years after the death of her husband. It was about the year 1670 that she was first distinguished at Court, not so much for her beauty, as for her wit, her vivacity, her high spirit and un¬ common powers of mind. These qualities fascinated the Duke of York. It was said of him, that he was as indifferent to beauty as Charles was to virtue and intellect in woman. Some of the ladies whom the Duke most admired were so homely, that the King used to aver, that the priests had inflicted his brother’s mistresses on him by way of penance. It is, however, certain that * “ It is pretty to hear how all the world doth talk of them, and call them a couple of fools, who killed each other for pure love.”—Pepys. 144 LADY BELLASY'S. those women whom the Duke selected as the peculiar objects of his homage, do rather more honour to his taste than the favourites of Charles do to his : Lady Denham, Arabella Churchill, Miss Sedley, Lady Bellasys, to say no¬ thing of Miss Hamilton and Miss Jennings, whom he also passionately ad¬ mired, and vainly pursued, are proofs that something like education and refinement were necessary to attract his attention, and something like wit and understanding to keep him awake. Lady Bellasys, who had virtue and spirit, as well as wit and bright eyes, gained a strong influence over his mind without compromising her own honour; and after the death of the first Duchess of York, in 1672, he actually placed in her hands a written contract of marriage, only requiring secrecy, at least for a time. This affair coming to the know¬ ledge of the King, some months afterwards, he sent for his brother, and re¬ buked him very severely, telling him that “ At his age it was intolerable that he should think to play the fool over againalluding to his former marriage with Anne Hyde. But neither the threats of the King, nor the arguments and persuasions of Lord Bellasys, her father-in-law, who thought himself obliged, in honour and duty, to interfere, could, for a long time, induce Lady Bellasys to give up this contract of marriage, and brand herself with dishonour. She yielded, at length, when the safety and welfare of the Duke and the peace of the nation were urged as depending on her compliance; but even then, only on condition that she should be allowed to keep an attested copy in her own pos¬ session ; to which they were obliged, though most reluctantly, to consent. In return for this concession. Lady Bellasys was created, in 1674, a peeress for life, by the title of Baroness Bellasys of Osgodby, having succeeded, on the death of her father and mother, to the family estates. It is said that the Duke of York, who seems to have loved Lady Bellasys as well as he could love any thing, made many attempts to convert her to his own religion, but in vain. It was even supposed that there was some danger of the lady converting her royal lover; a suspicion which raised a strong party against her among the Duke’s Roman Catholic dependants, and led to much of the slander from which her name and fame have suffered. About ten years after these events. Lady Bellasys married a gentleman of fortune, whose name was Fortrey, of whom we know nothing, but that she survived him. Her son, Henry Bellasys, succeeded, in 1684, to the title and estates of his grandfather, as Lord Bellasys of Worlaby, and died about the year 1690; he married Anne Brudenell, a beautiful woman and sister of LADY BELLASYS. 145 the celebrated Countess of Newburgh, Lord Lansdown’s Mira. She after¬ wards married Charles Lennox Duke of Richmond, and from her the present Duke is descended. It is to be inferred from a letter of Swift to Mrs. Dingley, (or rather to Stella,) that Lady Bellasys appeared again at Court in the reign of Queen Anne, and from this daughter of her former lover she received every mark of distinction and respect. She died on the 6th of January 1713, be¬ queathing her rich inheritance among her nearest kinsmen : Lord Berkeley of Stratton was appointed the executor of her will, with a legacy of ten thousand pounds. Horace Walpole, in allusion to this portrait, thinks it probable that Charles, by admitting Lady Bellasys into the gallery at Windsor, meant to insinuate the superiority of his own taste over that of his brother ; if so, he has not assuredly taken the best means of proving it, since every other face, however regular and beautiful, appears insipid when placed in contrast with this noble creature, — Miss Hamilton’s, perhaps, alone excepted. Lady Bellasys is here represented as Saint Catherine. Her left hand rests on the wheel and supports the palm branch ; her right hand is pressed to her bosom. The drapery, which is dark blue and crimson, falls round her in grand and ample folds,' and is coloured with exceeding richness. In the back-ground two cherubs are descending to crown her with myrtle, and she turns her large dark eyes towards them with an expression of rapturous devotion. Her jet black hair falling from beneath a coronet of gems, flows in ringlets upon her neck ; and this peculiarity, as well as the uncovered am¬ plitude of the bosom and shoulders, seems to refer the portrait to the time of Charles H. On a critical examination of the features, we are obliged to allow the absence of beauty; the contour of the face is not perfect, and the nose and mouth are rather irregular in form, but then, as a certain French Cardinal said of his mistress, “ cest au moins, la plus belle irregularite du mo7ide r —and the eyes and brow are splendid. They have all the life and vivacity which Burnet attributes to this intractable lady, as he styles her.* There is so much of poetry and feeling in the composition of this picture; so much of intellectual grandeur in the turn of the head; such a freedom and spirit in the mechanical execution, and such a rich tone of colour per- * See Burnet, History of his Own Times, vol. i. p. 393. U 14G LADY BELLASYS. vading the whole, that the portrait might be assigned at once to Vandyke, if other circumstances did not render it improbable. It bears no traces of the style of Sir Peter Lely, and I am inclined to agree with Horace Wal¬ pole, who attributes it decidedly to Huysman. Huysman was the pupil of Vandyke, and he may have painted this picture in the early period of his residence in England, and before he quitted the powerful and spirited style of his former master to imitate the effeminate graces of Lely. There is at Gorhambury, in the possession of Lord Verulam, a portrait of Queen Catherine, indisputably by Huysman; so nearly resembling this picture in the composition and style of execution, that it adds strength to this persuasion ;—but I am far from presuming to decide where abler judges cannot agree. / ,-iidoii,. FiUiUsheil hy Coliurmf: BcruUy /tu^’.^4.J83/. 4 r i 5 it - M • • < * » ■ . JMlf «, 1 ; f •».' f •'* ■ ■ ■ ■ . . 1 - ^ • V I •VJ ■J>tr THE COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. “ Gracious to all, but where her love was due So fast, so faithful, loyal, just, and true, That a bold hand as soon might hope to force The rolling lights of Heaven as change her course.” Waller. Anne Dig by, Countess of Sunderland, succeeded to a title which had already been distinguished in the person of her mother-in-law, Dorothy Sidney, the first Countess of Sunderland, Waller’s celebrated Sacharissa. The second Countess of Sunderland wore her honours with equal grace; she was equally beautiful and blameless, and she played a much more interesting and important part in the real game of life; but she had no poet to hymn her into fame, to immortalize her girdle, and even her waiting-maid,*—to render her name, like that of Sacharissa, a sweet and familiar sound to the fancy and the ear. The celebrity of the second Lady Sunderland is of a very different kind ; it has been dimmed by the breath of mahce, and mixed up with the discord of faction ; part of the obloquy which attended the political career of her husband fell on her, and party rancour added other imputa¬ tions ; but all evidence deserving of the slightest credit is in favour of the character and conduct of this accomplished woman—the friend of the angelic Lady Russell and of the excellent Evelyn. Lady Anne Digby was the second daughter of George Digby Earl of Bristol; her mother was Lady Anne Russell, daughter of Francis second Earl of Bedford, a woman of the most amiable character and unblemished life. Lord Bristol, who played a most conspicuous part in the civil wars, * Waller’s Poems. See his address to Sacharissa’s waiting-maid, Mrs. Braughton, beginning, “ Fair fellow-servant!” &c. u 2 148 COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. after the Restoration, was one of the most remarkable characters of that time; a compound of great virtues and great vices, splendid talents and extravagant passions ; such was his inconsistency of principle and conduct, that Walpole describes him as “ one contradiction.” He appears, in fact, to have been deeply tinged with that eccentricity (to give it no stronger name) which characterised so many of his noble family in the seventeenth century. His property having been confiscated in tlie time of Cromwell, he resided abroad for several years, following the various fortunes of his Royal master. Clarendon tells us, that at this time he entered deeply into the libertine ex¬ cesses of Charles’s vagabond court; “ that he left no way unattempted to ren¬ der himself gracious to the King, by saying and doing all that might be ac¬ ceptable to him, and contriving such meetings and jollities as he was pleased with,” although he was at this time married and the father of two daughters. His poor wife lived as well as she might, occasionally residing at Paris, but generally at the Hague or at Amsterdam ; and while abroad she married her eldest daughter. Lady Diana Digby, to a Flemish nobleman, the Baron von Mall, of whom we know nothing farther. At the Restoration, Digby recovered his estates; he became a favourite at court, where his youngest daughter appeared with all the advantages which her father’s rank, her mother’s virtues, and her own beauty and vivacity could lend her. Lady Anne was at this time not quite seventeen, exceedingly fair, with a profusion of light brown tresses, tinged with a golden hue; slie had a complexion of the most dazzling transparency, small regular features, and a slight delicate figure, yet with a certain dignity of presence which is said to have particularly distinguished the Digbys of that age. About the same time Robert Spencer, the young Earl of Sunderland, returned from his ti'avels and appeared at court. He was the only son of Henry the first Earl of Sunderland* and Dorothy Sidney, and was now about one- and-twenty, eminently handsome in person and full of talents and spirit. He fixed his affections on Lady Anne Digby, and to a match so suitable in years, in rank, and in merit, there could be no objection ; but even here, when all the preliminaries were settled between the two great families with due pomp and ceremony, the course of true love was not destined to run smooth. The deeds were prepared, the wedding clothes were bought, even the day was fixed, yet the marriage had nearly been broken off. The Earl of Bristol, in * Killed in the battle of Newbury at the age of twenty-three. See a most interesting memoir of this brave and accomplished nobleman iu Lodge’s “ Portraits and Memoirs.” COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. 149 consequence of some extravagance of language, was called up before the House of Commons to justify himself; he made a most eloquent speech, hut with so much heat and gesticulation that he was compared to a stage-player, and what was worse, his rhetoric did not appear to have much effect upon the Commons, while the Lords were incensed at his appearing before the other house without tlieir express permission : in short, his disgrace or ruin was impending, and Lady Anne had nearly been the innocent victim of her father’s misconduct or indiscretion. In this state of things, those who envied her beauty and her good fortune, or hated her family, reported everywhere that the marriage was broken off,— that Lord Sunderland had gone out of town after sending her “ a release of all claim and title to her, and advice to his own friends not to enquire into the reasons for his conduct, for he had reason enough for it.” All this scan¬ dalous exaggeration, which Pepys gives us at full length, was merely “ a weak invention of the enemy.” It is possible that Lord Sunderland’s mother and his uncle, the Earl of Leicester, began to look coldly on the connexion ; for the former entertained some jealousy of her daughter-in-law, and the latter disliked and opposed Lord Bristol: but Lord Sunderland did not leave London, nor did he remit his attentions to his chosen bride. After a little delay, the preparations and tlie courtship went forward as before; and in the month of July, 1663, the marriage was celebrated with more than usual magnificence. The four or five years which immediately followed her mar¬ riage were probably the happiest of Lady Sunderland’s life. Her husband was young, of a gay, magnificent spirit, full of talent and sensibility : and though he entered into the dissipation of the time, and unhappily contracted a passion for deep play, still his early love of literature, a natural elegance of mind, and above all, the affection of a beautiful and accomplished wife, whom he esteemed as well as loved, kept him for some time clear from the open pro¬ fligacy and crooked politics of a court, where he was always well received, and where his Countess took the place due to her rank and loveliness without entering into its follies. Most of their time was spent at Althorpe, and there, within the first four years of her marriage, Lady Sunderland became the mother of three children ; Robert Lord Spencer, born in 1664, and two daughters. They lived at this time with considerable magnificence, so regulated by the excellent sense and domestic habits of Lady Sunderland, that they 150 COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. might long have continued to do so without injury to their splendid income, had not the Earl’s unhappy predilection for gambling diminished his pro¬ perty, preyed on his spirits, and at length led him to play a more deep and ruinous game of political intrigue, in which he made shipwreck not only of fortune and domestic happiness, but virtue, honour, fame, and all that man ought to cherish beyond life itself. He was appointed Ambassador to Spain in 1671; and the Countess was preparing to follow him, when the ill success of the Earl’s embassy, and his recall within a few months, prevented this intended journey. Lord Sunder¬ land, on his return, being appointed Ambassador Extraordinary to the French court. Lady Sunderland joined him at Paris; they remained there together for about a year.* From this time there was an end of Lady Sunderland’s domestic peace; her restless and ambitious husband became deeply involved in all those dark disgraceful schemes of court policy which threatened the very foundation of English freedom. She had not even the consolation which belongs to many a wife whose husband treads the giddy path of ambition— that of seeing her Lord honoured and useful in his generation, and thus, in the gratification of her pride, finding some amends for disappointed love. En¬ dued with splendid abilities of every kind, cultivated by study; with an in¬ tellect to comprehend the universe, to weigh the destinies and wield the re¬ sources of great nations ; with the most consummate address, the most insi¬ nuating graces of manner, and with a knowledge of human nature, or rather of the world, allowed to be unrivalled—with all these advantages Lord Sun¬ derland united no generous feeling or patriotic principle, no elevated or en¬ larged views of policy. To obtain wealth, office, power for himself,—to baffle or betray his rivals,—to govern one king through his mistresses and his vices, and dupe another through his friendship and his v'irtues, such were the objects he pursued. After being twice prime minister of England and at the summit of power, alternately the leader, the tool, and the victim of a party, — this leally accomplished but most miserable man sank into the grave, leaving behind a reputation for political profligacy which happily has been more than redeemed by later statesmen of his family.-f- Octobei 8th, 1674. I took leave of Lady Sunderland, who was going to Paris to my Lord, now Ambassador there. She made me stay dinner, and afterwards sent for Richardson the famous 6re-eater, &c.”—Evelyn’s Diary. t The history of Lord Sunderland’s political career, from 1671 to 1695, and of the double and treacherous part he played in the revolution, may be found in all the records of that period;—as a tissue of venality, inconsistency, and falsehood, it is perhaps unexampled. COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. 151 In the midst of many trials and anxieties, Lady Sunderland appears ever superior to her husband in sense, in virtue, and in feeling. All the notices of her scattered through Evelyn’s Diary, exhibit her uniformly in the most amiable and respectable light; he appears to have been the confidant of her secret charities, as well as of her domestic afflictions : on one occasion he notes in his Diary, that Lady Sundeidand “ gave him ten guineas to bestow in private charities,” (equal to thirty pounds at the present time.) In 1686, when Lord Sunderland was Lord President of the Council, and principal Secretary of State, Evelyn writes to her in these terms ; “ I am not unmindful of the late command you laid upon me, to give you a catalogue of such books as I believed might be fit to entertain your more devout and serious hours: and I look upon it as a peculiar grace and favour of God to your Lady¬ ship, that amidst so many temptations and grandeur of courts, the attendance, visits, diversions, and other circumstances of the palace, and the way you are engaged in, you are resolved that nothing of all this shall interrupt your duty to God and the religion you profess, wherever it comes in competition with the things of this world, how splendid soever they may appear for a little, and (God knows!) uncertain time. Madame, it is the best and most grateful return you can make to Heaven for all the blessings you enjoy, amongst which is none you are more happy in than in the virtue, early and solid piety of my Lady Anne, and progress of your little son. Madame, the foundation you have laid in these two blessings will not only build but establish your illustrious family, beyond all you can make of gallant and great in the estimation of the world, &c.” This letter does more honour to Lady Sunderland than to Evelyn. The sentiments are rather uncouthly expressed, but such sentiments never would have been addressed by Evelyn to a woman suspected of levity and hypo¬ crisy. The little son he alludes to was her son Charles, the common ancestor of the Duke of Marlborough and Earl Spencer. Her eldest son, early emancipated from her controul and unchecked by his father, plunged into every species of dissipation ; she endeavoured to reform him by an early marriage, and proposed to unite him with the daughter of Sir Stephen Fox. She used Evelyn’s intervention in this affair; but Sir Stephen was not well inclined to the match ; he evidently disliked the character of the young Lord, but excused himself by pleading the extreme youth of his daughter. The Countess was deeply mortified and disappointed, but soon afterv/ards received 152 COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. a severer blow in the death of her son, who died at Paris in his twenty-fourth year. In her second son Charles, afterwards Lord Spencer, Lady Sunder" land sought and found consolation ; he was in every respect a contrast to his brother ; and at the early age of fifteen, Evelyn alludes to him as a youth of extraordinary hopes and of singular maturity of intellect. But it was Lady Sunderland’s fate to suffer through the virtues as well as the vices of her nearest and dearest connexions; the trial and execution of her cousin, the excellent Lord Russell, and her husband’s cousin, Algernon Sidney, in 1683, overwhelmed her with affliction. In one of her letters to Evelyn, she describes her own and her mother’s grief in strong and affecting terms. Her tenderness for her mother. Lady Bristol, was at all times truly filial; she now devoted herself to her comfort, and from this period the old lady spent most of her time in the society of her daughter, either at Althorpe or in London. Evelyn, in his Diary, gives an account of a visit which he paid to Lady Sunderland in 1688. Having invited him to Althorpe, she with true aristocratic magnificence provided a carriage and four to convey him from London, and all his expenses going and returning were defrayed by her command, although Evelyn was himself a man of large and independent for¬ tune. He describes Althorpe, its beautiful park, its tasteful gardens, and noble gallery of pictures, in language which would serve for the present time— “ and all this,” he adds, “ is governed by a lady who, without any show of solicitude, keeps every thing in such admirable order, both within and with¬ out, from the garret to the cellar, that I do not believe there is any in this nation, or in any other, that exceeds her in such exact order, without ostenta¬ tion, but substantially great and noble. The meanest servant is lodged so neat and cleanly; the service at the several tables, the good order and decency, in a word, the entire ceconomy is perfectly becoming a wise and noble person. She is one who, for her distinguished esteem of me, from a long and worthy friendship, I must ever honour and celebrate. I wish from my soul the Lord her husband, whose parts and abilities are otherwise conspicuous, was as worthy of her, as by a fatal apostacy and court ambition he has made himself unworthy! This is what she deplores, and it renders her as much affliction as a lady of great soul and much prudence is capable of. The Countess of Bristol, her mother, a grave and honourable lady, has the comfort of seeing her daughter and grand-children under the same ceconomy.” * * Evelyn’s Diary, vol. i. p. 613. COUNTESS OP SUNDERLAND. 153 Lady Sunderland was the mother of seven children ; three of them, a son and two daughters, had died in their childhood. The others, except Lord Spencer, appear to have been under the same roof with her at the period of Evelyn’s visit. Charles Spencer was pursuing his studies under an excellent and learned tutor. Her two eldest daughters. Lady Anne and Lady Elizabeth, were lately married, and are described as “ admirable for their accomplishments and virtue.” Lady Anne, now in her twenty-first year, was the wife of James Lord Arran, son of the Duke of Hamilton ; Lady Ebzabeth, who was scarcely seventeen, had just married Donogh Macarty Earl of Clancarty, a handsome, dissipated, wrong-headed Irishman, of whom Evelyn remarks, “ that he gave as yet no great presage of worth.” He does not tell us what induced Lord and Lady Sunderland to bestow on him their youthful and lovely daughter, unless it was the Earl’s “ great and faire estate in Ireland.” In 1689, Lady Sunderland quitted her family to accompany her husband abroad ; at the Revolution he was excepted from pardon both by William and James, and went to hide his head in Holland ; there, after suffering the ex¬ tremity of misery, he was arrested by order of the States, but soon afterwards liberated by the interposition of King William. On this occasion Lady Sun¬ derland addressed to the King the following letter, partly the expression of gratitude and partly of supplication. “ LADY SUNDERLAND TO KING WILLIAM III. “ The relief I had by your Majesty’s justice and grace from the sharpest apprehensions that ever I lay under, may, 1 hope, be allowed a sufficient plea for the liberty I now take to present you my most humble acknowledgments for that great charity of yours; I dare not impute it to any other motive: but, however unfortunate my present circumstances are, I have this to support me, that my thoughts, as well as actions, have been and are, and I dare to say, ever will be, what they ought to be to your Majesty ; and not only upon the ac¬ count of the duty I now owe you, but long before your glorious undertaking, I can’t but hope you remember how devoted I was to your service, which was founded upon so many great and estimable qualities in you, that I can never change my opinion, whatever my fortune may be in this world ; and may I but hope for so much of your Majesty’s favour as to live quietly in a country X 154 COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. where you have so much power, till it shall please God to let me end my days at my own home; I shall ever be most truly and humbly thankful.” Amsterdam, March 11th, 1689. Whatever may be thought of the humble tone and petitionary vehemence of this letter, the style is dignity itself, compared to the utter prostration of mind which is exhibited in those of Lord Sunderland. The above letter I presume to have been enclosed in the following, addressed to Evelyn, and which I am enabled to give at length from the original autograph.* It is not the best specimen which might have been selected of Lady Sunderland’s epis¬ tolary style, but the circumstance under which it was written, and the sen¬ timents contained in it, render it particularly interesting. Amsterdam, March 12, 1689. “ Under all the misfortunes I have gone through of late, I cannot but be sensible of that of not having heard a word from you. Indeed, I have sometimes need of your letters, as well for to help me as pleas me: and indeed, my good frend, they do both; wherefore, pray make amends. I am sure you have heard of the unusual proceeding my Lord met with in this country.? but, by the King’s grace and justice, he is releast. I heer inclosed, send you a paper which was writ by your advice, and another very good frend. If it be not what you like, I hope the sinceritye will make amends; for, indeed, it is exactly true, every tittle, I dare say. I thank God, my Lord is come to a most comfortable frame of mind, and a serious consideration of his past life, which is so great a comfort to me, that I must call upon you, my good frend, to thanke God for it, and to pray that I too may be truly thankfull. As to what relates to this world, we desire nothing but to live quietly in Holand, till it shall pleas God we may end our days at Althorpe : that were a great blessing to us ; but it will not be thought of such an inestimable price by others as we esteem it; and therefore, I hope in God ’twill not be envyed us. I am sure nothing else in our fortune deserves envy; and yet, having reduced my Lord to the thoughts he has, it is for ever to be acknowledged by me, to Almighty God, as the greatest of mercies. Pray for me, and love me, and let me hear from you. Do inclose your letters to this merchant. God send us a happy meeting ! Farewell! “ Yours, “ A. S. • In the Collection of Mr. Upcott. COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. 155 “ Pray remember to urge, that, desiring to live in Holand till wee can be allowed to live at Althorpe, is neither a sign of a Frenchman nor a Papist; and I thanke God my Lord is neither. He has no pretensions, and will have none ; and therefore interest cannot make him say it; but he never did any thing but suffer it to be said, besides going to chapel, as hundreds did, who now value themselves for good Protestants. God knows that was so much to my soul’s grief; but more had been wrong; and I dare say he is most heartyly, and most Cristianly sorry for what he has done.” In a postscript to this letter, she tells Evelyn that she has sent him some rare plants. Thus, in the midst of her own distresses, she could bear in mind the peculiar tastes and occupations of her friend: and when we recollect his character, and that he was a friend of thirty years’ standing, we cannot sup¬ pose this trifling, but delicate present, was intended to quicken Evelyn’s zeal in their behalf, or that it could have weighed for a moment with such a man. However this may be. Lord Sunderland’s contrition, his wife’s supplications, and the intercession of his friends, proved effectual. He was suffered to reside unmolested at Utrecht for some months, and obtained permission to return to England the following year : but they were scarcely settled again at Althorpe, when the death of her favourite daughter the young Countess of Arran, (in 1690,) overwhelmed Lady Sunderland with affliction. Evelyn wrote her on this occasion a long letter of condolence, which may be found in his works.* Evelyn’s simple yet cordial testimony to the exemplary conduct and domestic virtues of Lady Sunderland, may well be placed against the ma¬ licious scandal of a party. The letters of the Princess Anne to her sister the Princess of Orange, written at this period, allude to Lady Sunderland and her Lord in terms of the most vulgar and virulent abuse ;f but we * Vol. ii. p. 290. "t I cannot end my letter without telling you, that Lady Sunderland plays the hypocrite more than ever, for she goes to St. Martin’s morning and afternoon, because there are not people enough to see her at Whitehall Chapel, and is half an hour before other people come, and half an hour after every body is gone, at her private devotions. She runs from church to church after the faraousest preachers, and keeps such a clatter with her devotions that it really turns one stomach. Sure there never was a couple so well matched as she and her good husband; for as she is the greatest jade, that ever was, so is he the subtillest workingest villain that is on the face of the earth.” Lord Sun¬ derland had lately declared himself a Roman Catholic, which probably made Lady Sunderland more frequent and attentive in her public devotions ; a little malignity would easily turn this against her, and a little exaggeration render it remarkable or ridiculous. X a 156 COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. must remember that besides her hatred and fear of Lord Sunderland, Anne had a private and personal reason for detesting his wife. An intimate friend¬ ship existed between Lady Sunderland and Lady Churchill, afterwards the celebrated Duchess of Marlborough; and Anne, whose romantic attachment for Lady Churchill was now at its height, beheld in Lady Sunderland a rival in the affections of her favourite. Her letters have been quoted as authority against Lady Sunderland; but besides that Anne was a weak fool and a fond jealous friend, her evidence, suspicious under any circumstances, is absolutely contradicted by the testimony of Evelyn, of Lady Russel, and Lady Sunder¬ land’s own letters.* In one of these addressed to Evelyn, she begs his pray¬ ers, his sympathy for her lord, who writhing under conscious self-abasement, rejected by all parties, disgraced by the Court, despised by the people, was in * Of these there are about thirty in the collection of Mr. Upcott, through whose kindness I had an opportunity of looking over them. They extend through a period of about twenty years, and convey, on the whole, a most delightful impression of her character, of the strength of her domestic affections, and the sincerity of her attachments. In the very beautiful Life of Lady Russell, prefixed to the late edition of her letters, there is the following passage, (page 101.) “ Lady Sunderland’s letters to Lady Russell are not extant ; but the following expressions in her answer to one of them ought to have forcibly struck Lady Sunder¬ land from tbe pen of Lady Russell ;—‘ So unhappy a solicitor as 1 was once for my poor self and family, my heart misgives me when I aim at any thing of that kind any more.’ The rest of the letter proves in the least offensive manner, that she was perfectly aware of the flattering and insin¬ cere character of her correspondent.” On this passage I must remark that the opinion against Lady Sunderland’s sincerity has no foun¬ dation but in the letters of Queen Anne, (quoted in the preceding note,) and, as Lady Sunderland’s historian, I must, in justice to her, place one or two passages from Lady Russell’s letters, in contrast with the one above quoted. In 1689 she thus writes ;—“ I think I understand almost less than anybody, yet I knew better things than to be weary of receiving what is so good as my Lady Sunder¬ land’s letters; or not to have a due regard of what is so valuable as her esteem and kindness, with her promises to enjoy it my whole life.” And again, in a letter written about 1692, she says, “ You have taken a resolution to be all goodness and favour to me: and, indeed, what greater mark can you almost give than remembering me so often, and letting me receive the exceeding advantage of your doing so, by reading your letters, which are all so edifying ?—when I know you are continu¬ ally engaged in so great and necessary employments as you are, and have but too imperfect health, which to any other in the world but Lady Sunderland would unfit for at least so great dispatches as you are charged with. These are most visible tokens of Providence, that every one that aims to do their duty shall be enabled to do it.” (Lady Russell to Lady Sunderland, Letters, p. 252, 302.) If Lady Russell believed her correspondent to be an insincere and flattering woman, what shall we say of the sentiments here expressed .’—that Lady Sunderland could not go beyond them in flattery and insinceiity. There is a long letter from Lady Sunderland to the Prince of Orange, a masterpiece of diplomatic obscurity and affectation, in.serted in Dalrymple’s Memoirs, and there said to have been written under the dictation of her husband ; it cannot therefore be brought in evidence against her. COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. 157 truth a pitiable object. “ Forget not,” she says, “forget not my Lord in your prayers for his conversion, which if I could see, I could with comfort live in any part of the world on very little.” She speaks of his penitence— his humiliation; and expresses a hope that he will be content to live with her in retirement: his latter years were indeed passed in retirement, but not in content. Before he left the Court for the last time, he was heard to say, that “ there was no rack like what he had suffered.” This admission coming from him in an agony, ought to be recorded as a legacy to those who view “ the seals of office glitter in their eyes, and pant to grasp them !” Besides the friendship existing between Lady Sunderland and Lady Marl¬ borough, there had been a constant interchange of kindness and good offices between the Earl of Sunderland and Lord Marlborough ; and in the year 1701, the two families were united by the marriage of Lord Spencer with Lady Anne Churchill, the second and favourite daughter of Marlborough. She was particularly endeared to her parents, not by beauty alone, but by the extreme sweetness of her disposition, and a maturity of judgment above her years: and Lady Sunderland, who was her godmother, appears to have regarded her with exceeding tenderness and admiration long before the idea of uniting her to her son could possibly have entered into her imagination. Lord Spencer was at this time in his thirtieth year; he had a fine person and an admirable understanding, improved by early and assiduous study ; “ he was remarkable,” says the historian of Marlborough, “ for a sedateness above his years; but in him a bold and impetuous spirit was concealed under a cold and reserved exterior.” Fresh from the study of Greek and Roman lore, he was almost a republican in politics, and had distinguished himself in the House of Commons as an animated speaker in behalf of liberty in its best and largest sense. His deportment in private life was not winning; his father’s errors had thrown him into an opposite extreme, in manners as in principles; instead of the bland elegance of address which distinguished the Earl, Lord Spencer, wishing to avoid even the shadow of adulation, was either haughty and unbending, or blunt and frank to a degree almost offensive. He had been married young to Lady Arabella Cavendish, daughter of the Duke of Newcastle, and had lost her in childbirth after a short but happy union ; her death had thrown a gloom over his mind, adding to the habitual cold¬ ness and harshness of his manners. In spite of all these drawbacks, he inter¬ ested Lady Anne Churchill; but his violent politics displeased her father ; and Lady Marlborough who, termagant as she was, doated on her children even 158 COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. while she tormented them, feared lest her daughter’s happiness should be sacrificed to a man of Lord Spencer’s cold, unaccommodating temper. All these difficulties in time gave way before the zealous, indefatigable exertions of Lady Sunderland, who knew what were the feelings of her son, and sym¬ pathised in them with a mother’s heart. She first won over Lady Marl¬ borough, who prevailed on her husband to listen to the promise of the Earl of Sunderland, that his son should be guided in his public conduct by Lord Marlborough. The Earl overrated his son’s docility, as it afterwards ap¬ peared ; but for the present he prevailed, and the marriage was solemnized in January 1701, when Lady Anne was not quite sixteen. Thus Lady Sunderland had the satisfaction of ensuring the domestic hap¬ piness of her son in his union with a most amiable and lovely woman, whose charms and tenderness soothed down his asperities, and she was spared the pain of witnessing its early termination. This young and adored wife and mother died in 1716, in her twenty-ninth year; a most affecting proof of her angelic disposition and her devotion to her hus’oand is preserved in the letter she wrote to be delivered to him after her death.* As her person was of a small size, as well as very beautiful, she became a favourite and fashion¬ able toast with her husband’s party under the title of the “ the little Whig.” Her son Charles became afterwards Duke of Marlborough; and her son John, commonly called Jack Spencer, was the father of the first Earl Spencer. The second Earl of Sunderland died a broken-hearted man in 1702, but his widow the Dowager Lady Sunderland survived him for several years, living respected and beloved in the bosom of her family. At length she sank under the accumulated infirmities of age, and expired at Althorpe, April 16, 1715. She had lived to see her accomplished son, the third Earl of Sunder¬ land, Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, Privy Seal, and Secretary of State, and as distinguished by his patriotism and integrity, as by his talents, activity, and ambition. The picture from which the portrait is engraved is by Lely, and one of the “ Beauties” in the Windsor Gallery ; it is remarkable for the exceeding delicacy and tenderness of the execution, and the lady-like sweetness and ele¬ gance of the turn and expression. It has never before been engraved. * Coxe’s History of the Duke of Marlborough, Vol. iii. p. 616. /■ondon,. fud^Ushed- iy CoUtunv itSfrUify, /tu^yd, /SM. t i .•5 V :» . I > V; •1 1 { . # »*#• . - i .J I ^N- MRS. MIDDLETON. “ Pictures like these, dear Madam, to design Asks no firm hand and no unerring line, Some wandering touches, some reflected light. Some flying touch alone can hit them right.” Pope. It is evident from the number of portraits which exist of this “ Beauty” par excellence, and the frequent allusions to her in contemporary memoirs, that she must have been a very admired and distinguished personage in her day ; yet of her family and life but little is ascertained, and that little is not interesting. She is one of the equivocal heroines of Be Grammont, and her brief history, as far as it is known, can hardly serve “ to point a moral.” And yet what is to be done—to treat it seriously, were indeed to “ break a butterfly upon a wheelshe fluttered through her day “ with insect pinions opening to the sun and apparently whatever was most admirable and interesting about her, has been preserved in the lovely pictures of her at Windsor and Althorpe. It is impossible to look on them without wishing to know who and what was the fair original. Yet if there had been no Lely, there would have been no Mrs. Middleton;—at least, we could have spared all that the pencil has not perpetuated. She was the daughter of Sir Roger Needham, a relation of the excellent and celebrated Evelyn; and married to Mr. Middleton, a man of good family but small fortune, of whom nothing is known but that he gave his name to a very beautiful coquette, who, under the shelter of that name, is said to have played some fantastic tricks. Mrs. Middleton was never attached to the Court, nor had she rank or fortune to enable her to take any distinguished place there; but her charms. 160 MRS. MIDDLETON. the admiration she inspired, her love of pleasure and her love of splendour, drew her within that brilliant but dangerous vortex. We find her associating habitually with many well-known characters of her own sex, those who were distinguished for correctness of conduct, as well as those who were notorious for the reverse; and surrounded by admirers, the gayest and noblest cavaliers of that dissipated court. Among these was the Chevalier de Grammont: she appears to have been the first who attracted his notice after his arrival in England. “ Then,” says his gay historiographer, “ Lettres et presens trotterent:”—the first were answered, the last not rejected. But the lover en restait Id: the lady was not quite so facile as the gentleman expected. “ II s’apper 9 ut que la belle prenait volontiers, mais qu’elle ne donnait que peu,” and in his usual style, he seems to have taken pains to make himself hated where he failed in making himself loved. It appears, that in addition to her pretensions as a beauty, Mrs. Middleton affected the airs of a precieuse. She talked as if she had just arrived from that fantastic land the paps du tendre, so minutely described with all its districts, its river tCinclination, and its various villages of jolis-vers, and petits-soins, &c. in the most famous romance of the time*—but though she sometimes put her lovers to sleep by discoursing in a strain of the most refined sentimentalism, and discussing mal-a-prnpos the most high-flown maxims of platonic gallantry, “ the fair Madam Middleton,” as Pepys calls her, is not accused of suffering her adoi’ers to perish through an excess of cruelty. How the lively De Grammont could possibly have been captivated by a woman “ qui ennuyait en voulant briber,” we are not told: perhaps her indolent, languid beauty charmed him by force of contrast with the beauties he had left behind in France. However this may be, her trifling appears to have at length exas¬ perated him; and finding after a while that he had more than one competitor, —that young Ralph Montagu (afterwards Duke of Montagu), and Dick Jones (the celebrated Lord Ranelagh), were not only rivals, but, as he had reason to suspect, successful rivals,—he was preparing for his faithless, or rather his ungrateful mistress, the most signal vengeance which his ingenious, inde¬ fatigable, and malicious nature could devise,—when happily for poor Mrs. * I'lie Cl^lie of Mademoiselle de Scuderi. “ There will be no talking to your sister when she has read Clelia, for the wise folks say it is the most improving book that can be read.” See Lady Russell’s Life, p. 94. MRS. MIDDLETON. 161 Middleton he encountered a more powerful charmer, and both his love and his despite were driven out of his eddying brain by the all-conquering attractions of La Belle Hamilton. It is said that the Duke of York also admired Mrs. Middleton, (which may account for her picture being at Windsor)—and William Russell, brother to the Earl of Bedford, was another of her adorers: but he too transferred his allegiance from this indolent, alluring coquette, to the lively, graceful, elegant Miss Hamilton. De Grammont says of his ci-devant flame, that the ambition of appearing a wit, “ ne lui a donne que la reputation d’ennuyeuse, qui subsistait longtemps apres sa beaute.” It must, then, have existed a long while, for nearly twenty years after this period, in 1683, she paid Evelyn a visit, in company with her old admirer Colonel Russell, and Evelyn mentions her as that “ famous and indeed incomparable beauty Mrs. Middleton.” Neither, as I think, should we entirely trust to the fidelity of De Grammont’s portrait of her ; he was a malicious disappointed lover, and Hamilton, who records it, a satirist by profession. Pepys says, that Evelyn described Mrs. Middleton to him as fond of painting, and excelling in it; a pursuit which speaks her not quite the indolent, inane creature which others represent her. In one of the letters of Dorothy Lady Sunderland,* (Waller’s Sacha- rissa,) she thus alludes incidentally to Mrs. Middleton,—“ Mrs. Middleton and I have lost old Waller; he is gone away frightened from which it appears that the poet in his old age had enlisted himself in the train of her admirers. With this “ famous Beauty,” as with others of her class, a youth of folly was succeeded by an old age of cards. She became one of the society of the Duchess of Mazarin,-f- whose house at Chelsea was maintained on the * Letters from the Countess of Sunderland to the Earl of Halifax, published at the end of Lady Kussell’s Life and Letters. f The too celebrated Hortense Mancini, whose story is well known. She arrived in England in 1676, and lived on a pension of 4000/. a year, granted her by Charles H. 'This sum was inadequate to supply her capricious extravagance and her propen.sity to gainbliug, and after a life of strange vicis¬ situdes and wanderings ovtjr half Europe, she died at Chelsea in 1699, and her body was immediately seized and detained by her creditors. In her youth she had amused herself with throwing handfuls of gold out of her window into the court-yard below, merely for the diversion of seeing the valets and grooms scramble for it; in her old age she was reduced frequently to want the means of sub- Y 162 MRS. MIDDLETON. footing of one of the modern gambling-houses, with this exception, that it was the resort of the dissipated and extravagant of both sexes. Many of the women who were occasionally seen in this society, were women of amiable character and spotless reputation, led thither by fashion, and the lax opinions and habits of the time; and probably more attracted by the fascinating manners of the Duchess, and the wit and gaiety of St. Evremond, and by the “ petits soupers ou regnait la plus grande liberte du monde et un egale discretion,” (if we may trust St. Evremond,) than by the bassette-table. It appears, for instance, that Lady Rochester, Lady Arlington, the Duchess of Grafton, Lady Derby, were visitors if not habituees; but Mrs. Middleton was one of the latter. Among the occasional poems of St. Evremond there is a little piece which he entitles, “ Une scene de Bassette,” in which the interlocutors are Mrs. Middleton, Madame Mazarin, and Mr. Villiers. La Middleton is discussing with Villiers the charms of some rival Beauties;— Mes. Middleton. “ Dites nous qui des deux vous semble la plus belle De Mesdames Grafton et Litchfield ? *—laquelle ? Mr. Villiers. Coiuinencez : dites nous, Madame Middleton, Votre vtai sentiment sur Madame Grafton. Mrs. Middleton. De deux doigts seulenieut faites-la inoi plus grande, 11 faut qu’&, sa beaut4 toute beaute se rende. Mr. Villiers. L’autre n’a pas besoin de ceite favenr-la. Mrs. Middleton. Elle est grande, elle est droite— Mr. Villiers. Apr6s cela ? Mrs. Middleton. Madame Litchfield un peu plus anim^e De tout ceux qu’elle voit se verrait fort aimee, &c. After some farther discourse equally pointless, Madame Mazarin, enraged at her ill-luck at the bassette-table, and the interruption which this silly sistence, and to be indebted to her devoted friend St. Evremond for a few hundreds, (which he could ill spare,) to meet the necessities and distresses of the moment. Tlie best account of this extra¬ ordinary woman, “ this famous beauty and errant lady,” as Evelyn styles her, may be found in Miss Berry’s deliglitful book, “The Comparative V^iew of Society in England and France,” p. 227. * Lady Isabella Bennet, Duchess of Grafton : and Charlotte Fitzroy, Countess of Litchfield, natural daughter of Charles 11. by the Duchess of Cleveland. See p. 53,of this work. MRS. MIDDLETON. 163 conversation causes to the more serious business of the evening, angrily attacks Mrs. Middleton Vos beaux discours d’appas, de grace, de beautd, Nous content notre argent—il ne m'est rien restd, &c. And Mrs. Middleton replies in a pique: “ Nous n’avons pas appris a garder le silence Comme vous avez fait dans vos couvens de France, Monsieur, Monsieur Villiers, allons nous consoler ; II est d’autres maisons, ou I’on pourra parler.” The exact date of Mrs. Middleton’s death is unknown, but it probably took place between 1685 and 1690; and while she could still eclipse younger beauties by her mature but unrivalled attractions. St. Evremond lamented her in a monody,* not worth transcribing;—but his epitaph on her is rather graceful: it is as follows : Ici git Middleton, illustre entre les belles, Qui de notre commerce a fait les agremens. Elle avait des vertus pour les amis fiddles, Et des charines pour les amants. Malade sans inquietude, Resolue a mourir sans peine, sans effort, Elle aurait pu faire I’dtude D’un pbilosophe sur la mort. Le plus indifferent, le plus dur, le plus sage Prennent pait au malheur qui nous afflige tous Passant, interroinps ton voyage, Et te fais un merite h pleurer avec nous. There are many pictures of Mrs. Middleton, but the two most beautiful are those at Windsor and at Althorpe, both by Sir Peter Lely ; the first represents her with the insignia of bounty or abundance, and the latter as Pandora opening her casket of evils. Whether the artist intended in either case to be significant or satirical, is uncertain. At Elvastone, in Derbyshire, the seat of the Earl of Harrington, there is another exquisite picture of Mrs. Middleton. The portrait which has been engraved for this collection is in the Windsor Gallery. It is distinguished by exceeding brilliance and harmony of colour; the face is beautiful, but not of a high order of beauty ; it has that fulness of form, and very sweet, but somewhat • “Stances irrdguliers sur la Mort de Madame Middleton.” CEuvres de St. Evremoud, vol. i, p. 92. 164 MRS. MIDDLETON. heavy expression, which belonged to the character of the woman; the com¬ plexion is fair but richly blooming, and painted with transparent delicacy of touch. The drapery is of a pale amber-colour relieved with white. This picture has been engraved in mezzotinto, with the erroneous title of Lady Middleton. There is also a fine print of her, a full-length, after Lely, properly designated as Madam Jane Middleton : and the beautiful picture at Althorpe has been engraved for Dr. Dibdin’s ./Edes Althorpianae. London^./icbUshadr hy Coiburyv Jb^eriUey. Afa-y.IB.2832 ^ f-. .'"'v. . i. f. .\ . », ; • V . : ':^'.V;:!' ' - '», j:' ■ . i • •■- .>'■; , 5 ..-'■. ---C^' V’T ^ \ > ■ ■ :''•■:■■]'. .-A, .• » ■ ', *..H,'U * •■■Cl. ... / - .. ,-■ ~-::j- ^ . ;■ ‘,.’V‘* .tJr i. X '■• vW- V,.,. ' .c •' r* ■ ' '»•* '».; . ..l. • ^' •* ■' r-* ' ' • * *. «^ ♦ ' . ■*’',■ ' ^ X ■''" ■'* ■ ^ ^ ^ • ■* -r ^ -(.v; ♦ # ‘ i*c- , -- ^ r • ‘•- ' ■ • i > . ^ ^ - /'■ . ^ ^ ■ / .. £. > '*(. r i. ' / ,- ;, . , • . 1 * .-•« ’ ’V' v> > r-^ ^ ^ ■. . ^ ^ -V*'-* V. ^ ^.V t.-iJ *: rVTi'.V-^ -r- V' • * * . • • '* ! * ■ 1 ■■-'■' 'If ^r- >./■ : • • •** S. - fi • ^ ' • ,;-»■-‘^V*’'-''--■•-^‘ ' '- •“' •.-..I- K A.' V ■ \ ><■..••: » » V '* ifr. ^- •- ‘ . TTT • ' .S'yx.. ^ .-1 ■ • ^ • , y .i,^- •'i ’/^-^V T*' ' ' tv ■• ■ Z ••'■ ,.x ..;■ f ^ (■:, ■*' ■• x.v-' . >». -.Ji■>»- ; % ' ■■'^ •* **1 ■ • t -•• .' V .' h- > ■..,■ ... ' ; V*,; ■• i Ir*!- , '.' *■ ...- r*... V' » *. f- “ 4 V.-- |r‘ f.- ' -. 'i ‘ . c. .-• ' X ■ ' ii-*, . '. , ■/ c'-',;- • ' i.,'-.■■■ :. ...•.-,• . ,*$ ■ ,'■ - ,-V»a.'^,..-..e V ■ . ■ J. * • i-iV ^ ^ '••"=;■ ^- . '• i. ■ * ^ ' ■ '• ■ ? ^ ' *« V','-*'. # V.. . •' ■ - *• *4’ - - i.,*;,i?ft‘V V ' * ‘ •T tv ‘••!, V y \ >* T -'f-i V. 4 t > \ > . cJ i' :- > (? p i e. THE COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. Court virtues bear, like gems, the highest rate. Born where Heaven’s influence scarce can penetrate. In life’s low vale, (the soil the virtues like) They please as beauties—here, as wonders strike ; 'fhough the same sun with all-diffusive rays Blush in the rose and in the diamond blaze, We prize the stronger effort of his power And justly set the gem above the flower. Pope. This Countess of Northumberland, the wife of the last male heir of the Percies, and afterwards of an Ambassador and Minister of State, did not from accidental circumstances mingle much in the Court of Charles II., nor from her mild unpresuming nature was she personally influential in anj’ of the private state intrigues of that time: but she was distinguished for her uncommon grace and beauty and her blameless life, not less than by her high rank and her descent from one of the most illustrious characters in our his¬ tory; above aU, she was the sister of Lady Russell; the frequent allusions to her in the memoirs and letters of that admirable woman are sufficient to throw a peculiar interest round Lady Northumberland, and give her an importance in our eyes, beyond what her own rank and beauty could have lent her. Elizabeth Wriothesley was the youngest daughter of the Lord Treasurer Southampton,* by his second wife Lady Elizabeth Leigh,-f- daughter and sole heiress of the Earl of Cliichester. She was born about the year 1647. The * Thomas, fourtli Earl of Southampton, so celebrated for his talents, his loyalty, and his unim¬ peachable integrity. He was the grandson of that Earl of Southampton who was the friend of Essex, and, what is more, the friend and patron of Shakspeare. f Lord Southampton’s eldest daughter by his fir.st wife (Rachel de Rouvigny) had also been christened Elizabeth. She married Edward Noel, eldest sou of Baptist Lord Campden, and after¬ wards the first Earl of Gainsborough. 166 COUNTESS OE NORTHUMBERLAND. eldest sister, Lady Audrey, was betrothed to Josceline Lord Percy, son of Algernon tenth Earl of Northumberland, but before the arrangements were completed the bride elect died in her fourteenth year.* Lady Elizabeth thus remained sole heiress to the estates of her maternal grandfather Lord Chichester, and her name was substituted for that of Lady Audrey in the marriage contract with Lord Percy, apparently without any reference to the wishes or feelings of either party. In the year 1662, when she was about fifteen and Lord Percy not quite eighteen, the marriage was duly solemnized : such early marriages were usual in those times, but, as Lady Russell observes, it was acceptance, rather than choice, on either side. Yet being generally arranged by the parents, with a reference to fitness of rank, age, temper, edu¬ cation, and a regard for the future happiness of their children, many of these conventional unions might be mentioned as examples of conjugal felicity: that of Lady Elizabeth appears to have been almost without alloy during its short duration. For about two years after their marriage, the young bride and bride¬ groom did not live much together. Lord Percy pursued his studies and exercises under the care of a tutor, and Lady Percy resided with her own family at Titchfield, in Hampshire ; but in 1664 and 1665, we find her residing at Petworth with her husband, and hence her affectionate letters to her sister Lady Rachel are dated.‘f* Her eldest daughter. Lady Elizabeth, was born in 1666; in 1668 she gave birth to a son and heir, Henry Lord Percy, and in the year following she had another daughter. Lady Henrietta, who died an infant. Her husband succeeded to his father’s titles and possessions in 1668, and became the eleventh Earl of Northumberland, but he did not long enjoy these honours. In the following year he lost his infant son, and the death of this boy, which occurred soon after her confinement, made so deep and painful an impression on the mind of his mother, that the Earl determined on making a tour to the Continent as the best means of diverting her gi’ief; and accordingly they set off for Paris, attended by the philosopher Locke as their physician. For reasons which do not appear, but probably from the delicate state of the Countess, her husband left her at Paris under the care of Locke, and * The Earl of Northumberland in a letter to Lord Leicester, dated Nov. 2, 1660, expresses his deep regret for the death of Lady Audrey, “ because she was of a nature, temper, and humour likely to make an excellent wife.” -j- See the Life of Lady Russell, p. 18. COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 167 proceeded alone to Italy; having reached Turin, he was seized with a fever which terminated fatally. He died May 21, 1670, in his twenty-seventh year—“ in the midst of the brightest hopes which this promising young nobleman bad excited in the breasts of all good men, that he would prove a shining ornament of his noble house, and an honour to his country,” &c. So far the Peerage; we ai'e not told of the grief of his widow, but we may believe it to have been poignant and sincere, since it for some time totally changed her appearance, and so dimmed the native beauty of her cheek, as to give her at the age of four-and-twenty a look of faded and premature age. Not that she was absolutely inconsolable; grief in the young heart either kills at once or is quickly cured, and eternal sorrow is at least as rare as everlasting love. She continued to reside at Paris, where Ralph Montagu, the English Ambassador, paid her every attention that could be offered in her afflicted state: these attentions after .a while awakened a corresponding gra¬ titude in the bosom of the lady, and Montagu began to cherish hopes that attentions of different kinds, and with different views, might some time or other prove acceptable.* Ralph Lord Montagu, afterwards Earl and Duke of Montagu, had been appointed Ambassador to the French Court in 1669- He was a man of splendid habits, eager and insatiable in acquiring wealth, and not very scrupulous, it is said, with regard to the means; but liberal to others, magnificent and even lavish in his expenditure.^* He had transcendant abilities as a statesman, and possessed a cultivated and refined taste in the arts, particularly painting and architecture. DeGrammont describes him as “ peu dangereux pours a figure,” but almost irresistible from his fascinat¬ ing manners, his assiduity and his vivacity. About two years after her first lord’s death, Montagu began to pay Lady Northumberland marked de- • In the life of James II. occurs the following entry, which I am unable farther to elucidate. “ July 13, 1672. Buckingham proposed to the King to get Lady Percy, (the infant heiress of Earl Josceline,) for Lord Harry (the King's natural son, afterwards Duke of Grafton). Buckingham at the same time offered to the Countess of Northumberland to get the King to consent that he should command the Duke of York to marry her.’' f His want of principle in money-matters, (and also in other matters) was contrasted with ex¬ ceeding generosity and high feeling in particular cases : for instance, when lie regained by a law process an estate which had been illegally wrested from his fimily, he remitted to the defendant. Lord Preston, the arrears and costs of suit, thinking the loss of the estate sufficient .—See Granger. 168 COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. votion. He followed her to Aix in the winter of the year 1672. Madame de Sevigne was then in Provence on a visit to her daughter, and Madame de la Fayette thus writes to her from Paris : “ Voila un paquet que je vous envoie' pour Madame de Northumberland. On dit ici que si M. de Montagu n’a pas un heureux succes de son voyage, il passera en Italie, pour faire voir que ce n’est pas pour les beaux yeux de Madame de Northumberland qu’il court le pays: mandez nous un peu ce que vous verrez de cette affaire, et comme il sera traite.” This is an amusing instance of that excessive vanity which characterized Montagu. It would have been interesting to learn what Madame de Sevigne thought of the fair lady, and of the treatment the lover met with, but unhappily her reply is not extant. We may presume that he was not driven to despair, as M^e find that he followed the Countess back to Paris, and was there with her in April 1673. She is again mentioned in a letter from Madame de la Fayette to Madame de Sevigne, from which it appears that her beauty, withered by recent sorrow and self-neglect, did not dazzle the lively Frenchwoman, and that her quiet but amiable disposition, joined to a want of command of the French language, prevented her from producing much effect in society. “ Madame de Northumberland me vint voir hier; j’avais ete la chercher avec Madame de Coulanges: elle me parut une femme qui a ete fort belle, mais qui n’a plus un seul trait de visage qui se soutienne, ni ou il soit reste le moindre air de jeunesse ; j’en fus surprise ; elle est avec cela mal habillee, point de grfice, enfin je n’en fus point du tout eblouie. Elle me parut entendre fort bien tout ce qu’on dit, ou pour mieux dire tout ce que je dis, car j’etais seule. M. de la Rochefoucauld et M. de Thianges, qui avaient envie de la voir, ne vinrent que comme elle .sortait. Montagu m’avait mande qu’elle viendrait me voir, je lui ai fort parle d’elle; il ne fait aucune fa 9 on d’etre embarque a son service, et parait tres rempli d’esperance.” This letter is dated from Paris, April 15, 1673. It is a pity we have not on record the whole course of a wooing which, notwithstanding the gentle temper of the lady, and the tact and assiduity of the lover, seems to have been diversified in the usual style. Lady Northumberland was jealous of the Duchesse de Brissac, to whom Montagu was formerly attached ; and Madame de la Fayette thus writes to her friend about a month after the date of her last letter. “ Montagu s’en va ; on dit que ses esperances seront renversees ; je crois qu’il y a quelque chose de travers dans I’esprit de la nymphe.” COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 169 It happened, however, that just at this time Montagu was so far from being a dismissed or despairing lover, that he was on the eve of success; he won the heart of the young Countess, and, in the same year, (1673,) they came to England privately and were married at Titchfield in Hamp¬ shire, the family seat of the Wriothesleys. It appears that she afterwards recovered those attractions for which she had been distinguished in early youth, for Evelyn alludes to her eight or ten years afterwards, as “ the most beautiful Countess of Northumberland.” In 1675 she was in England, and for some years afterwards she was involved in troubles relative to the disposal of her only daughter by the Earl of Northumberland.* The Dowager Countess, who appears to have been a meddling, jealous old woman, demanded to have the entire charge and disposal of the young heiress on her mother’s second marriage. Lady Russell, ever right in judgment as kind in heart, alludes to this affair in one of her letters to her husband. “ The two Lady Northumberlands have met at Northum¬ berland-house, after some propositions offered by my sister to the other, which were discoursed first yesterday before my Lord Chancellor, between the elder Lady and Mr. Montagu,—Lord Suffolk by my sister : offers to deliver up the child upon condition he will promise she shall have her on a visit for ten days or a month sometimes, and that she will enter bonds not to marry the child without her mother’s consent, nor till she is of years to consent; and on her part, Mr. Montagu and she will enter into the same bonds, that when she is with them, at no time they will marry or contract any marriage for her with¬ out the grandmother’s consent: but she was stout yesterday and would not hear patiently, yet went to Northumberland-house and gave my sister a visit; 1 hope for an accommodation. My sister urges, it is hard that her child (that if she has no other children must be her heir,) should be disposed of without her consent, and in my judgment it is hard ; yet I fancy I am not very apt to be partial.” It was in truth a hardship, and Lady Northumberland felt it and resisted it as such; but the old Dowager contrived at length to get Lady Elizabeth completely into her hands, and made her the subject of constant intrigues with men of power who wished for wealth, and rich men who wished for rank • See the preceding memoir of this celebrated heiress, afterwards Duchess of Somerset, p. 97 f It was burnt down in 1685, and Montagu immediately began to rebuild it with more cost and splendour than before. It is now the British Museum. Z 170 COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. and power. The premature marriage of Lady Elizabeth with the famous Tom Thynne, of Longleat, is known to have taken place through the ma¬ noeuvres of her grandmother and against the consent of her mother. Between 1675 and 1678, Lady Northumberland and Lord Montagu were in England, and Montagu commenced the building of Montagu-house, on the decoration of which he lavished immense sums. Their married life was not all sunshine, for Montagu, besides being deeply and disgracefully in¬ volved in the state" intrigues of that period, was a dissipated man of plea¬ sure. Lady Northumberland, who had endowed him with her wealth, appears to have derived no pride nor pleasure from his political exaltation ; and, left to herself in his frequent absences, she pined in the midst of her splendour for calmer and more domestic happiness. In the year 1678, Charles, (the habitual scoffer at all religion,) ordered Montagu to find out and con¬ sult, in his name, a certain astrologer at Paris, in whom he put great faith. Montagu found the man, and saw that he was capable of being corrupted by money. He therefore prompted him to give such hints to the King as should serve his own ends. At the same time he was carrying on an intrigue with that mischievous and abandoned woman the Duchess of Cleveland, and had the folly and weakness to trust her with this affair of the astrologer. She afterwards, in a fit of ill-humour or jealousy, vowed his ruin; and although she had long been dismissed from the Court and from the King’s affections, she had still sufficient art and power to accomplish this object. She sent over to Charles a detailed and exaggerated account of Montagu’s transaction with the astrologer, in consequence of which he was disgraced, and Lord Sunderland succeeded him in his embassy. Montagu then re¬ venged himself by entering into a secret intrigue with Louis XIV. for the removal of the Lord Treasurer Danby, who was exceedingly obnoxious to the French government, and opposed the Roman Catholic interest. For the ruin of Lord Danby, (to be accomplished within a given time,) Montagu asked the sum of one hundred thousand crowns, or an annuity of forty thou¬ sand livres for life. This infamous bargain was duly fulfilled, on one side at least; Danby was disgraced, and sent to the Tower ; but Montague only re¬ ceived half the stipulated sum from the French government.* He was after- * He was, moreover, reduced to the necessity of making repeated and humiliating applica¬ tions for tlie money, at the risk of a discovery, which would have endangered his head. See the letter from tlie Duchess of Cleveland to Charles 11. which ruined Montagu with the King, given at full length in the “Comparative View of Society in England and France;” and the history of Montagu’s subsequent intrigues with the French Court, in Barillon’s despatches to Louis XIV. See also Burnet’s History, vol. ii. p. 25. COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 171 wards in opposition to the Court, and voted for the Exclusion Bill, which gave unpardonable offence; and, in 1680, he retired to France, w'hither Lady Northumberland followed him. She was not of a temper or character to be a participator in these transactions; but she had an ample share in the distress and degradation to which they led, and their effect on the haughty, restless, and excitable temper of her husband, necessarily reacted on her and her happiness. From several slight allusions to her in the letters of Lady Russell and Lady Sunderland, she appears to have suffered much from ill-health; to have passively, or at least patiently, endured her husband’s infidelities, and never to have interfered with his political intrigues. They resided unmolested at Paris for several years, and were there during the trial and execution of Lord Russell. So that Lady Northumberland was not near her sister in the hour of affliction ; neither had she, though tenderly devoted to her, a mind sufficiently strong to afford support and consolation to one who, in feeling and in intellect, was so much her superior. In Lady Russell’s letters from 1685 to 1690, the following notices of Lady Northumberland occur. The first alludes to the revocation of the edict of Nantes by Louis XIV. :— “ I read a letter last night from my sister at Paris ; she writes, as every body who has humane affections must, and says that, of 1,800,000, there is not more than ten thousand (Protestants) esteemed to be left in France; and they, I guess, will soon be converted by the dragoons, or perish.” 11th July 1686. “ I hear by my sister Montagu she found a sickly family at Paris; her daughter in a languishing condition, worn to nothing with a fever, which has hung about her for the last six weeks. The doctors apprehend a hectic, but youth, I hope, will overcome it.” The allusion is to her only daughter by Montagu, who is afterwards frequently mentioned in Lady Russell’s letters, and seems to have been often on a visit with her. Within a year afterwards, Lady Northumberland lost her eldest son at the age of twelve. “ I believe she takes it heavily,” writes Lady Russell, “ for truly I have not seen her since the child died on Sunday morning.”— “ Now my own sad trials making me know what a mean comforter I can be, I think the best service is to take some care of her two children, who are z 2 172 COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. both well now, and I hope God will be pleased to keep them so, and teach her to be content.” * After this affliction Lady Northumberland retired to Windsor, and con¬ tinued to reside there for some time. The delicate health of her children seems to have been a constant source of uneasiness to her. She had now (1687) one “ fine lovely boy,” (for so Lady Russell designates him,) and of her two daughters, the eldest, Lady Percy, was Duchess of Somerset ;d' the youngest, Anne Montagu, who was about fourteen, was a slight, fair girl, whose health caused her much anxiety ; hence the frequent allusions to these children, and prayers for their preservation, which occur in Lady Russell’s letters. In 1688, Montagu, who had always been a zealous friend of liberty,| was one of the chief promoters of the Revolution ; and being created an Earl by King William, Lady Northumberland dropped her first husband’s title, and is thenceforth styled Countess of Montagu. In the following year the attainder of Lord Russell being reversed, his execution was formally denounced as murder by the House of Commons, and a committee appointed to discover and examine those who were the advisers and promoters of it. The proceedings on this occasion appear to have deeply agitated his widow, and renewed all the bitterness of those regrets which the lapse of six years had in some respect softened. Having given so many passages of Lady Russell’s letters expressive of her affection for her sister, it is pleasing to see how truly that affection was returned : a melancholy letter from Lady Russell to the Countess drew from her this tender reply. Lady Montagu to Lady Russell. “ I am very sorry, my dear sister, to find by yours, which I received by the last post, that your thoughts have been so much disturbed with what I thought ought to have some contrary effect. It is very true, what is once taken from us in that nature can never be returned; all that remains of comfort, (according to my temper,) is the bringing to punishment those who were so wickedly and unjustly the cause of it. I confess it was a great satis- * Letter 42. f See p. 97, of this work. t So the biographies—perhaps we should rather say a zealous euetny of the Court in which he had been disgraced. COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 173 faction to me to hear that was the public care; it being so much to the honour as well as what in justice was due to your dead Lord, that I do not doubt, when your sad thoughts will give you leave to recollect, you will find comfort. I heartily pray God you may, and that you may never have the addition of any other loss, which is, and ever shall be, the prayers of Your entirely affectiotiate, E. Montagu. Boiighton, 23 Dec. 1689. Boughton, in Northamptonshire, whence this letter is dated, was the family seat of the Montagus; and Lord Montagu was now engaged in enlarging and embellishing the house, and planting and decorating the grounds with his characteristic taste and enthusiasm, and indifference to expense. After the Revolution much of their time was spent there.* In the beginning of 1690, the health of the Countess of Montagu visibly declined, and in September following she died at Boughton, in her forty-fourth year. Lady Russell thus feelingly alludes to her death : “ She was my last sister, and I ever loved her tenderly. It pleases me to think that she deserves to be remembered by all those who knew her ; but after forty years’ acquaintance with so amiable a creature, one must needs, in reflecting, bring to remem¬ brance so many engaging endearments as are at present embittering and painful.”-f* To this simple eulogium nothing need be added. Lady Montagu had four children by her second husband; her two eldest sons, Ralph and Win- wood, died young, one son and one daughter survived her: her son John Montagu, Lord Monthermer, became second Duke of Montagu after the death of his father in 1709 ; he married the youngest daughter of the great Duke of Marlborough. Lady Anne Montagu married Alexander Popham, Esq. of Littlecotes, Wiltshire ; and secondly, Lieutenant-General Hervey. After the death of the Countess of Montagu, the Earl, whose splendid tastes and extravagant habits had brought him into some difficulties, deter- * Boughton is the property of the present Lord Montagu. When the Duke of Marlborough visited Boughton, lie expressed great admiration of the water-works. “ But they are not com¬ parable to your Grace’s fire-works T replied Itlontagu with a bow and a smile. f Letter to the Bishop of Salisbury, dated Oct. 16, 1690. 174 COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. mined to repair his fortunes by marrying another heiress. Elizabeth Cavendish, daughter of Henry Duke of Newcastle, and widow of the last Duke of Albemarle, possessed immense riches by marriage and inheritance. The pride of wealth, rank, and grandeur, seems to have disordered intellects naturally weak, and she declared she would give her hand only to a sovereign prince. It is a fact, that Montagu wooed her and won her in the character of the Emperor of China. He afterwards kept her in a sort of confine¬ ment in Montagu-house, still without undeceiving her; and she was always served on the knee as Empress of China. She died of mere old age in 1738. The portrait of the Countess of Northumberland is engraved after the picture at Windsor. I suppose it to have been painted after her second marriage, for it does not represent her in the bloom of youth, and has more of elegance and dignity than of beauty; the complexion is fair, and the expression all sweetness. The position of the right arm is rather stiff; yet Lely appears to have been fond of this attitude, for he has repeated it in other pictures; the drapery is of a rich brown; the back-ground, which is a fine bit of woodland landscape, with a waterfall in the distance, is admirably painted. Painud. by Sir Pecer /.efy. b'lz^raveci fy C.Ji.Wa^staff: ■ *o / t by L''‘/Jpurr/ .?: fic/ 2 X/yy. Dry '‘A/S.'->j\ 4 THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. Her birth, lier beauty, crowds and courts confess. Chaste matrons praise her, and grave bishops bless; In golden chains the willing world she draws. And her’s the gospel is—and her’s the laws; Mounts the tribunal, lifts her scarlet head, ^ And sees pale Virtue carted in her stead 1 • * Lo ! at the wheels of her triumphant car Old England’s genius, rough with many a scar, Dragg’d in the dust! This is a name disgracefully celebrated, but only a small portion of that disgrace can justly rest upon her who bore it. The period of her reign, for so it may be called, is historically infamous, but the least part of that infamy rests upon the woman herself. If we could tear from the chronicles of our country that leaf which bears the name of Louise de Qu6roualle, it were well ; but since this cannot be, we ought not to close our eyes to its import, for it conveys a deep lesson. It is impossible to study history without admitting that the political influence of women has been great in all ages; it has been modified by the difference of manner and the degree of intelligence,—it has been more or less ostensible, more or less mischievous,—but at all times it has been great, and it increases with the progress of civilization and the diffusion of knowledge. It is not in these days that we are to listen to common-places out of the Spectator and the Ecole des Femmes. Let it be granted, that “ women are formed for private life alonebut in that privacy—in our nurseries and boudoirs, are inculcated and directed the principles and opinions of those men who are to legislate for the happiness and welfare of nations. This species of indirect influence increases with the spread of civilization and Pope. 176 DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. intelligence, it cannot be denied—it cannot be suppressed :—is not the next alternative to render it beneficial to society ? If a woman could once be taught to feel, to appreciate the grand stake she has in the political institu¬ tions of her country, and to vinderstand the interests of humanity at large, she would no longer mix up with these considerations the petty passions, errors, and prejudices, and personal feelings which have rendered at all times the political interference and influence of the sex a fertile source of evil, and a never-failing topic of reproach and regret; for evil has been almost con¬ stantly the result. The gallantry of men and the vanity of women may here suggest instances of the contrary; but for one Volumnia how many Cleopatras.? for one Agnes Sorel how many Pompadours and Portsmouths ? One thing, however, is certain, that, thanks to the progressive diffusion of freedom and knowledge, we are not likely to behold again in civilized Europe the common decencies of life braved by the insolent triumph of a “ maitresse en titre nor “ sin in state, majestically drunk,” trampling over the destinies of great nations and the interests of millions of men. A Maintenon will never more half depopulate France, nor a Portsmouth bargain with a foreign despot for the sale of English liberty. Ivouise Renee de Penencovet de Queroualle,* of a noble but impoverished family in Brittany, was appointed maid of honour to the Duchess of Orleans in the year 1669; she was not more than nineteen, when by tbe interest of some relations in power, she was taken from the convent to which the poverty of her house had at first consigned her, apparently for life, and at once intro¬ duced to all the pleasures and temptations of a magnificent and dissipated court; her introduction took place at a critical moment, and in deciding her future fate has made her destiny and character matter of history. The conquest, or the ruin of Holland, had long been one of the favourite projects of Louis XIV. The Dutch, however, resisted his overgrown power, as their ancestors had formerly defied that of Philip II. of Spain. In order to carry his plans into execution, Louis found it necessary to detach England from the interests of Holland. This was matter of some difficulty, for an alli¬ ance with France against Holland was so odious to all parties in England, so contrary to the national prejudices and interests, that, though Louis did not * The name is spelt variously, Keroual, Kerouaille, and Querouailles. In England she was Anglicised into Madam Carwell. DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 177 despair of cajoling or bribing Charles into such a treaty, the utmost caution and secrecy were necessary in conducting it. The only person who was at first trusted with this negotiation was Henri¬ etta Duchess of Orleans, the sister of Charles, and sister-in law of Louis, fatally celebrated in French history as Madame d’Angleterre. She was at this time about five-and-twenty, a singular mixture of discretion, or rather dissimulation, with rashness and petulance; of exceeding haughtiness, with a winning sweetness of manner and disposition, which gained all hearts. She had inherited some of the noble qualities of her grandfather Henri Quatre, and all the graces and intriguing spirit of her mother Henrietta Maria. Early banished from England by the misfortunes of her family, she regarded the country of her birth with indifference, if not abhorrence. A French woman in education, manners, mind and heart, she was an English woman only in the peculiar style of her beauty, uniting the utmost majesty of form with a profusion of light hair, eyes as blue and bright as those of Pallas, and a com¬ plexion “ petri de lis et de roses.” On her husband, the worthless, stupid, profligate Duke of Orleans, her wit and charms were equally thrown away. Louis was well aware of her unbounded power over the mind of Charles II. whose affection for her was said to exceed that of a brother for a sister; he had never been known to refuse her anything she had asked for herself or others, and Louis trusted that her fascinations would gain from the King of England what reason and principle and patriotism would have denied. To cover the interview between the brother and sister with some kind of pretext which should give it the appearance of an accidental or friendly meet¬ ing, Louis undertook a progress to his new Flemish provinces ; and until Catherine of Russia astonished Europe by her pompous triumphal voyage down the Bosphorus, nothing had equalled in lavish and luxurious ostentation this famous journey. An army of thirty thousand men preceded and followed the royal party : in one spacious and superb equipage, all glass and gilding, travelled the king, the queen, Henrietta, and Madame de Montespan ; then followed their respective retinues ; then the Princesses ; the Dauphin and his court. Mademoiselle de Montpensier (la grande Mademoiselle) and her court. This was just before the fatal affair of her marriage with Lauzun, who on this occasion rode at the head of the royal guards. It was a perpetual series of fetes, banquets, and triumphs ; the apparent honours were principally for Madame de Montespan ; the real object of this splendid journey was known only to Henrietta of Orleans, Avho enjoyed in secret her own importance, 2 A 178 DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. which gave a new zest to the pleasures with which she was surrounded. When arrived at Dunkirk, she embarked for England, with a small but chosen retinue, and met her brother at Dover, where this celebrated conference took place. The event showed that Louis had not reckoned too much on her power; she gained from the facile and unprincipled Charles all that she asked, and the shameful treaty which rendered the King of England the pensioned tool of France, was arranged at Dover in the beginning of June 1670.* Henrietta brought in her train Mademoiselle de Queroualle, and during her short stay, the exceeding beauty and almost childish graces of this young girl captivated Charles, who was observed to pay her much attention; she, however, returned to Versailles with her royal mistress, and there, within a few days afterwards, witnessed her dreadful death. Voltaire doubts, or affects to doubt, that Henrietta was poisoned, because of the odium which such a suspicion must have thrown on the father of his patron, the Regent-Duke of Orleans; but the recent publication of some private memoirs of that time has cleared up the shocking mystery. The intrigues which led to the murder of this unhappy woman, present such a scene of accumulated horrors and ini¬ quity, that for the honour of human nature, one could wish that the curtain had never been raised which hid them from our knowledge. On the occasion of her death, the Duke of Buckingham was sent over to France as envoy extraordinary ; he had been the first to observe the impression which Mademoiselle de Queroualle had made on the King’s ex¬ citable fancy, and he resolved to turn it to his own advantage. He had quar¬ relled with the Duchess of Cleveland—had sworn hatred and vengeance against her ; and now to raise her up a rival who should be wholly governed by himself, seemed to this Proteus of gallantry and harlequin of politics, a very master-stroke of art,—worthy of Machiavel himself. He persuaded Louis seriously, that the only way to bind Charles to the French interest, was to give him a French mistress: and he told Charles jestingly, that he ought to take charge of his sister’s favourite attendant, if only out of “ decent ten¬ derness” for her memory. As to Mademoiselle de Queroualle, a convent was all she could look to in France, and she was not found impracticable. Mat- * France agreed to give two millions of livres (150,000f.) for the King’s conversion to Popery; and three millions a year for tlie Dutch war. Large sums of money were distributed to Buckingham, Arlington, Clifford.—See the documents in Dalrymple, vol. i. Appendix. DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 179 ters, in short, were soon arranged; an invitation, so decorously worded as to spare the lady’s blushes, was sent from the English Court, and she was immediately despatched to Dieppe with part of the Duke of Buckingham’s suite, and his Grace’s promise to join her with all convenient speed. But what did that most careless and inconsistent of human beings? His admirable scheme of policy, by which he was to build up his own fortunes and power, and ruin all his enemies, was but “ one of the thousand freaks that died in thinkinghe totally forgot both the lady and his promise, and leaving the disconsolate nymph at Dieppe to manage as she could, passed over to England by way of Calais. Montagu, then our ambassador at Paris, hear¬ ing of the Duke’s egregious blunder, immediately sent over for a yacht, and ordered some of his own people to convey her with all honour to Whitehall, where she was received by Lord Arlington with the utmost respect, and imme¬ diately appointed maid of honour to the Queen. “ Thus,” says Burnet, “ the Duke of Buckingham lost all the merit he might have pretended to, and brought over a mistress, whom his own strange conduct threw into the hands of his enemies.” Though the lady carried it at first very demurely, the purpose of her visit was pretty well understood.* Dryden, the court-poet of the time, hailed her arrival in some complimentary stanzas, entitled the “ Fair Stranger,” not worth quoting here ;*f* and St. Evremond addressed to her an epistle, which for different reasons I shall refrain from quoting; it is sufficient, that the elegance of the diction was worthy of his pen ; the sentiments worthy of his epicurean philosophy ; and the morality—worthy of the occasion. J The next we hear of Mademoiselle de Queroualle is from Evelyn, who notes in his diary that he had seen “ that famous beauty, the new French maid of honour;” but adds, “ in my opinion she is of a childish, simple, and baby face.” We may judge from all the pictures of la Queroualle, that when young, her beauty, though exquisite, must have had the character, or rather the want of character, thus described by Evelyn.§ Within a year afterwards * It had been foretold apparently, for Madame de Sevign^ thus writes to her daughter. “ Ne trouverez-vous pas bon ne .savoir que K^roual dont I’etoile avait M devin^e avant qu'elle partit, I'a suivie trfes-fidelement ? Le Roi d’Angleterre I’a aim6e, elle s’est trouve avec une legere disposition k ne le pas hair; eufin, &c.” Lettre 190. f See Dryden’s Works. Scott’s edit. vol. xi. p. 163. J (Euvres de St. Evremond, vol. iii. p. 280. § Evelyn’s Diary. This note is dated November 1670, about a month after her arrival in England. 2 A 2 180 DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. he met her on a visit at Euston, the seat of Lord Arlington, where she was obviously invited for the gratification of Charles. The French ambassador, Colbert,* * * § and a number of ladies of high rank, nobles and courtiers, were there at the time. Charles came over every other day from Newmarket, and made no secret of his attentions to the young beauty.*1* In the year 1672 she bore the King a son, (who was created in 1675 Duke of Richmond and Earl of March in England, and Duke of Lennox and Earl of Darnley in Scotland).| In the following year Mademoiselle de Queroualle was created by letters patent, (August 19, 1673,) Baroness Petersfield, Countess of Farneham, and Duchess of Portsmouth. Yet further to exalt and blazon a shame which sought neither disguise nor concealment, Louis XIV. conferred on her the Duchy of Aubigny, in the Province of Berri, in France,§ as a mark of his friendship for his good brother the King of England, and of his respect for the lady, whose progenitors, as the preamble sets forth, “ had always held a considerable rank in Brittany, and had done good service to the throne, &c.” Finding that she was likely to prove a staunch supporter of his interests in England, Louis added to the title and dignity of Duchess and Peeress of France the revenues of the territory of Aubigny, and a considerable pension. The unbounded power which this woman acquired over the easy disposi¬ tion of her royal lover, was not owing to any superiority of wit or intellect, nor did she attempt to govern him like the Duchess of Cleveland, by violence and caprices ; though imperious and wilful, she was more artful and flexible; she studied to please and observe the King until she had fixed him, then if he refused or delayed her wishes, she had tears and sullens, and fits of sickness at command. Her rapacity and prodigality were quite equal to those of her predecessor. “ This day,” says Evelyn, “ I was casually shown the Duchess of Portsmouth’s splendid apartment at Whitehall, luxuriously furnished, and with ten times the richness and glory of the Queen’s ; such massy pieces of plate, whole tables, stands, &c. of incredible value !” And yet at this time Charles was reduced to the basest expedients for money : shuffling with his ministers, duping his friends, exaspei'ating his people, and absolutely begging like a * Brother to the great minister Colbert; he had signed the treaty at Dover. t See Evelyn, vol. i. p. 419. I These titles had lately reverted to the Crown by the death of the last Duke of Richmond of the Stuart family, the husband of La belle Stuart.—See p. 106. § By virtue of this grant the present Duke of Richmond is Due d’Aubigny and a Peer of France. DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 181 mendicant of Louis XIV. and using the intercession of the Duchess to obtain from him occasional supplies.* The following note in Evelyn, also relating to the extravagance of the Duchess of Portsmouth, is very characteristic. “ Following his Majesty this morning through the gallery, I went with the few wLo attended him into the Duchess of Portsmouth’s dressing-room, within her bed-chamber, where she was in her morning loose garment, her maids combing her, newly out of her bed, his Majesty and the gallants standing about her; but that which engaged my curiosity was the rich and splendid furniture of this woman’s apartment, now twice or thrice pulled down and rebuilt to satisfy her prodigality and expensive pleasures, while her Majesty’s does not exceed some gentlemen’s wives in furniture and accommodation. Here I saw the new fabric of French tapestry, for design, tenderness of work and incom¬ parable imitation of the best paintings, beyond any thing I had ever beheld. Some pieces had Versailles, St. Germains, and other palaces of the French King, with huntings, figures, and landscapes, exotic fowls, and all to the life, rarely done. Then for Japan cabinets, screens, pendule clocks, great vases of wrought plate, tables, stands, chimney furniture, sconces, branches, braseras, &c. all of massive silver, and out of number; besides some of his Majesty’s best paintings. Surfeiting of this I dined at Sir Stephen Fox’s, and went contented home to my poor, but quiet villa. What contentment can there be in the riches and splendour of this world purchased with vice and dishonour!” There was in truth but little of contentment within those splendid walls. It may be, that there was not much repentance for the sin—nor much sense of dishonour—but fears, and jealousies, and perplexities, and heart-aches; disgraceful and malicious intrigues, public and private conspiracies, and all tbe demons that wait on pride, avarice, perfidy, ambition, haunted the pre¬ cincts of this temple of luxury ; the new Peeress in her gems and ermine, was laughed at by Nell Gwynn,d* hated by the Queen, despised in private, and lampooned in public. * The Whig party, at one of their meetings, proposed to impeach some of his mistresses, upon account of the poverty in which their extravagance had involved him. On wliich old Lord Mordaunt said, “ That they ought rather to erect statues to the ladies who made their lover dependant on Par¬ liament for his subsistence.”—Vide King James’s Memoirs and Dalryraple. f See p. 93, of this Work. 182 DUCHESS OF POKTSMOUTH. In 1675, the arrival of the Duchess of Mazarin in England had nearly overturned the empire of the Duchess of Portsmouth. That “ Ladye errant,” after many and notable adventures, came over with the professed in¬ tention of captivating the King; that very king to whom the short-sighted policy of her uncle had once refused her as a bride !* Hortense concealed, under a languid air and a careless manner, as much arrogance and ambition as a Cleveland or a Portsmouth, with more natural wit than either of them. But born to beauty, rank, power, wealth, she was the complete spoiled child of nature and fortune; — a sort of female Buckingham, in her uncon¬ trollable passions, her extravagant whims, and instability of purpose. She had scarcely arrived in London, where she was received with distinction, when a sudden passion for the Prince de Monaco put to flight all her ambitious views on the heart of Charles; for with her the last caprice was ever paramount. The Court was thus spared the delectable amusement of a combat of daggers or bodkins between the rival Duchesses; but St. Evremond was in despair, and Charles in a fury. The vagrant heart of this royal Squire of Dames had been captivated in the first moment by the attractions of Mazarin; she was now dismissed from Whitehall, and he withdi’ew her pension. After a while his wrath subsided, he restored her pension at the earnest interces¬ sion of some of her friends at court, but returned to La Portsmouth, whose power over him was increased by this short estrangement; she could not, however, by all her arts, detach him from Nell Gwynn, whose genuine wit, unfailing animal spirits, and careless humour, were a relief from the vapours, caprices, and political cabals which often annoyed him in the Duchess’s boudoir.-h As years passed on, her power grew by habit, and with it her arrogance. * It is true, that Charles in his exile had offered to marry this niece of Cardinal Mazarin, and it is true that the offer was refused; it was then Mazarin’s interest to keep well with Cromwell, and the return of Charles to his throne was deemed impossible. ■t One of Andrew Marvel’s satires thus alludes to the indolent Charles and his insolent mistresses. “ In loyal libels we have often told him How one has jilted him, the other sold him ; How that affects to laugh, how this to weep, But who can rail so long as he can sleep '. Was ever Prince by two at once misled False, foolish, old, ill-natured and ill-bred ? At all times the licence of personal satire has kept pace with the licence of manners and morals, but the remedy is sometimes as bad as the disease—or rather is itself a disease. DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 183 The ladies of the Court tossed their heads at poor Nell, the untitled mistress —but the most immaculate in character, the most illustrious in rank, thought themselves happy in the notice and intimacy of the ennobled courtesan. Now and then she had to endure mortifications; it is true, the Arling- tons, the Sunderlands, the Arundels, the Cliffords, the Lauderdales—even the lovely young Duchess of York, combined to surround the favourite with a glory which kept her in countenance and served to gild over her shame— but the Russells, the Cavendishes, the Butlers, stood aloof. She once senj. word to the excellent and venerable Duchess of Ormonde, that she would dine with her on such a day. The Duchess did not decline the honour, but she sent her two grand-daughters. Lady Betty Stanhope and Lady Emily Butler, out of the house on this occasion, and received the Duchess of Ports¬ mouth alone. They sat down to dinner, with only her chaplain en tiers; and we may easily suppose that the Duchess of Portsmouth did not again invite herself to the table of the Duchess of Ormonde.* Carte, who gives us this characteristic trait, has also related an almost incredible instance of the impertinence, rapacity, and influence of the favourite. When the daughter of the ill-fated Henrietta of Orleans became Queen of Spain,-|- Charles ordered the famous jeweller Laguse to prepare an ornament of gems of the value of fifteen thousand pounds, as a present to his niece; and Lord Ossory was appointed envoy extraordinary to convey it to her, with the usual compliment of congratulation; but the Duchess having in the interim cast her eyes on the jewel, it so pleased her fancy that she insisted on appropriating it. The King had every art but the art of saying no, and Ossory’s journey was stopped, on the plea that economy was the order of the day, and that it was too expensive; on the same economical principle the jewel was presented to the Duchess of Portsmouth. What became of it afterwards I do not know. On another occasion the Duke of York took it into his head to descant in her presence on the virtue and piety of Louis XIV. who, at the command of a new confessor, had sent Montespan into a convent during Lent, in order that he might be contrite with a better grace. The Duke related all the circum¬ stances and dwelt upon them with much eloquence and solemnity, to the * Carte’s Life of Ormonde. d" She was sent into Spain at the age of fourteen, and perished, like her mother, in the bloom of youth, and by a similar death. 184 DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. infinite impatience and embarrassment of the Duchess; she was however qiiitle pour la frayeur. The Queen detested her; but the little spirit which poor Catherine had at first exhibited, as well as her affection for the King, had long subsided,— the first into passive endurance, the latter into absolute indifference. When the act was passed in 1678, obliging all persons to take a test against Popery, and a proviso was inserted in favour of the Queen and nine ladies about her person, she required all her attendants to cast lots, but named the Duchess of Portsmouth with herself, as excepted, and not to be exposed to the uncer¬ tainty of a lot. The excuse made for this piece of complacency to her rival was her own perilous situation, which made it necessary to display an extreme alacrity in anticipating the wishes of the King. This conduct, the effect of fear only, excited so little gratitude, that not long afterwards we have an instance of the abject and heartless slavery of Charles, and of the unfeeling insolence of his sultana, which cannot be recorded without indignation. The Duchess was lady of the bed-chamber to the Queen as Lady Castlemaine had been before her ;—not so much to preserve appearances, as to give her, by virtue of her office, a right to lodgings in Whitehall. It may easily be imagined that the duties of her place were dispensed with ; but on one occa¬ sion, contrary to her usual custom and the Queen’s wishes, she chose to attend on her Majesty at dinner, and behaved with so much effrontery, that the Queen, who had little command of temper, was thrown into extreme disorder, and at last burst into tears.* The Duchess laughed behind her fan, and uttered some words of derision almost aloud :—this audacity excited so much disgust and indignation that the King interposed. Catherine’s spirit was, however, a mere flash of excited temper, and the next time we hear of her she is the Duchess of Portsmouth’s partner at Loo.-f* Many intrigues were carried on against the imperious favourite; many at¬ tempts were made to remove her, or introduce a rival, or a substitute, in the heart of the indolent, inconstant Charles—but without effect. She had nu¬ merous enemies, and not one friend ; but she had so many spies and de¬ pendants around her ; she was so well served through fear or interest, that she contrived to anticipate or defeat all the plots against her, and keep old Rowley chained to her footstool while he lived.:J; * Sir John Reresby’s Memoirs. f Lady Sunderland’s Letters. I The interest of the story of “ Peveril of the Peak” turns on a plot of this kind, fictitious of course, but resembling in its outline the story of Miss Lawson ; (see p. 108). The King obtained the DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 185 Nor did she reign merely through the influence of her beauty and her femi¬ nine arts. If this woman had confined herself to securing her personal in¬ fluence in the heart of Charles — if she had been satisfied with amassing wealth and appropriating diamonds, the world had wanted one signal instance of mischievous, misplaced power in our sex. We find the Duchess of Ports¬ mouth almost from her first arrival in England engaged in the deepest and most dangerous state intrigues; and so completely did she fulfil the intentions and instructions of Louis, in binding her lover to the French interests, that England, to use the strong expression of one historian, “ was, in her time, little better than a province of France.” As far as the government was con¬ cerned this was true; but fortunately the tide of national feeling had set in a contrary direction, and though repressed for a while, it was afterwards nobly asserted. In the boudoir of the Duchess of Portsmouth was concerted that treaty, or rather that conspiracy, between Charles II. and Louis XIV., a prin¬ cipal article of which was, that Charles should not call a Parliament for a certain number of years, and that during that time he should have money from the court of France to enable him to govern independently, and carry his measures without the consent of his people. The amount of this pension caused much dispute. The plea used by Charles to persuade Louis to come in to his terms was, “ that it would render England for ever depend¬ ant on him, and put it out of the power of the English to oppose him.” These were the King’s own words—may they stick like plague-spots to his memory! The Duchess of Portsmouth promised for her lover, that if Louis would give four millions of livres, he should enter into all the engagements the King of France could desire. The terms were at last arranged between Bouillon the French envoy, and Lord Sunderland. During this secret negotiation, French money was lavished on all sides d pleines mains: not only the ministers, courtiers, and their dependants, but some of the women of the highest rank in the Court accepted presents and nick name of Old Rowley, from that of an ugly old horse in the royal stud, which was celebrated for the number and beauty of its offspring. He was ignorant of this satirical cognomen, till one day happening to visit one of the maids of honour, he found her singing a most libellous song on “ Old Rowley the King.” After listening a few minutes at the door, he tapped gently ; “ Who’s there said Miss Howard from within ; “ Old Rowley iiimself, madam,” replied the King, opening the door. 2 B 186 DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. gratifications from France, on conditions pretty well understood; and “ not to be corrupted, was the shame.”* Many of these transactions were well known to the King, who treated them with profligate indifference and even raillery. While Charles and his confidants were bribed into compliance with the wishes of Louis, the French ambassador and the Duchess of Portsmouth were intriguing with the popular or Whig party, in order to embarrass the govern¬ ment, and prevent the King from becoming too independent: and Charles was duping, or trying to dupe, all parties in turn. In the midst of this scene of perfidy and meanness, and moral and political abasement,—while the traitor nobles, and their more traitorous king, were licking the dust like reptiles round the footstool of a French courtesan, was she on whom so much of the odium has been thrown, the most culpable or tbe most contemptible figure in the vile group ? Like Circe, who retained her human and feminine attributes in the midst of the herd of wretches around her, transformed and degraded by the taste of her enchanted cup, s/ie had still some womanly feelings left— and for her. Justice might find some excuse,—for the others none. She was introduced to the French Court just in time to witness the elevation and triumph of Madame de Montespan ; to see her the object of envy to the women, and of obsequious homage to the men; to see her carriage surrounded by a troop of horse, and her levee crowded by obsequious nobles;—Was it to be expected that she alone was to look beyond this illusion, and turn from a temptation which she had learned to regard as an object of ambition ? She was a foreigner; treachery to England was truth and good service to her own country; perfidy on one side was patriotism on the other,—at least it has been accounted so in other heroines; only this French Judith was satisfied with turning the head of her lover, and had no wish to cut it off. Farther— she was a woman, with the feelings and affections of a woman. She was * The French Minister thus writes to his master—“ Lady Arlington having offered in her husband’s presence to accept of the present intended for her husband, he reproached her, but very obligingly.” About a year afterwards, he says ;—“ My Lord Arlington made me a visit on purpose to let me know how much he is penetrated with the marks of esteem and distinction which your Majesty has given by the magnificent present made to Lady Arlington.” Again, “ Lady Shrewsbury, on receiving her French pension, said. She would make Buckingham comply with the King in all things.” Again, “ If your Majesty thinks I ought again to press Lord Hollis to accept the box of diamonds, I may, by means of Lady Hollis, make him accept of it. I don’t presume she will be so difficult as he has been.” (Lord Hollis died before the box could be again offered to him, and it was given to Lord St. Albans.) Montagu was promised 100,000 livres for contriving the disgrace and fall of Loi d Danby, (but received only half the sum ;) “ Lord Sunderland and the Duchess of Portsmouth hinted that they expected gratifications from France.” (They received 10,000 and 5000 pistoles with a very good grace.) See the original despatches quoted in Dalrymple’s Appendix. DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 187 attached to Charles, was true to him—to him who believed her the only friend he had in the world, yet did not hesitate to dupe her whenever he wished through her to dupe others. She doated on her son, and by these two feelings, superior even to her fears and her avarice, she was frequently governed by the intriguing ministers around her. For instance, when the Bill to exclude the Duke of York from the throne was agitated with such factious clamour, the nation beheld the strange spectacle of the French mistress, leagued with the Whig and protestant faction, and intriguing with the popular leaders of the House of Commons against the Court; because that Machiavel, Shaftesbury, had represented to her, that if the usual law of succession was once set aside, her son the Duke of Richmond would become of more importance, and even have some chance of succeeding to the throne: and such was her ignorance or her imbecility, that she fell at once into the snare. They also worked on her fears by threatening to vote her a public grievance. It is said that on this occasion she threw herself at the feet of the King and shed a flood of tears, beseeching him not to sacrifice her and himself to his affection for his brother: but this time she kneeled and wept in vain. It is curious, that during that grotesque and sanguinary farce, the Popish plot, which threatened even the person of the Queen, the Duchess of Portsmouth not only escaped its all-devouring snares, but enjoyed a kind of popularity, so that when a member of the House of Commons rose up to move an address, “ That she should be sent out of the kingdom,” the purport of his speech was no sooner guessed, than it was drowned in a tumult of dissentient voices. One part of this pretended plot being the murder of the King, she had an excuse for being on the opposite side. It is even said, that at the trial of poor old Lord Stafford, she was in the court dealing out smiles and bon-bons to the witnesses against him. It is said in the life of Lord Russell, that the old Earl of Bedford offered the Duchess of Portsmouth one hundred thousand pounds to procure the par¬ don of his son, and that she refused it. As she was never known to resist a bribe, it is more probable that she did make the attempt, and failed. In this instance, as in some others, the Duke of York’s influence outweighed her’s. In the year 1681, her son, the Duke of Richmond, then about nine years old, was installed a Knight of the Garter. At this period, and previously, the Knights of the Garter wore the blue ribbon round the neck with the George 2 B 2 188 DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. appendant on the breast; but the Duke’s mother having sometime after his installation introduced him to the King with his ribbon over his left shoulder, and the George appendant on the right side, his Majesty was so much pleased with the alteration, that he commanded it in future to be adopted. Thus the Duchess of Portsmouth has some claim to be considered as joint patroness of the most noble order of the Garter with the Countess of Salisbury of chivalrous memory, whose face could not have been more fair, and whose fame, by all accounts, was not much fairer. About the same time another secret treaty with France was arranged in the boudoir of Madame la Duchesse. The principal article of this treaty was, that Charles should never more call a parliament, and should receive on that condition two millions of livres for one year, and a million and a half for two years more. Lord Hyde, Lord St. Albans, and the Duchess of Portsmouth, were alone privy to this infamous bargain, which was managed verbally, but the proofs of which remain in Barillon’s despatches. It is well known that after this treaty, or rather treason, had been consummated, Charles dissolved his parliament and never assembled another. It was a little later, about 1682, that Louis being resolved to seize on Luxembourg, the key to the Netherlands and Germany, prevailed on Charles, through the influence and caresses of the Duchess of Portsmouth, to look on quietly while this piece of arbitrary injustice was perpetrated against the faith of treaties and against the interest of England. Charles received 300,000/. for his passive treachery. The amount of the gratification which rewarded the Duchess is not ascer¬ tained ; but she ever afterwards piqued herself on this affair of Luxembourg, and boasted of it as the last and best piece of service she had rendered the Court of France.* In the midst of these vile state intrigues, the interior of Whitehall is described by contemporaries as a scene “ of inexpressible luxury and profaneness, gaming and all dissoluteness,” but the under current was bitterness, terror, and gloom. Charles, who had been so remarkable for his easy gaiety, had latterly sunk into a kind of melancholy apathy; the Duchess became alarmed by his illness and her own unpopularity. She changed her conduct after the dissolution of the last parliament, turned against the popular party, connected her interests with those of the Duke of York, and brought Lord Sunderland again into the administration ; in fact, Sunderland, whose insinuating arts few could withstand, found means to work * Burnet, vol. ii. p. 181. Dalryiuple, vol. i. Appendix to Book 1. Evelyn, vol. i. p. 537. DT3CHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 189 on her feelings and her fears. He began by proving to her that her son could never hope to succeed to the crown, but that, through his (Lord Sunderland’s) interest and that of the Duke of York, she might gain an immense hereditary settlement for him. The Duke was not wanting in promises on his part, so that on one occasion, in 1684, when the Duchess was seized with a sudden indisposi¬ tion (the consequence of that habitual gotirmandise in which she indulged,) she called the King to her, and made him swear, in case of her death, to stand by his brother. On her recovery, the Duke of York sent to thank her for a proof of interest, which appeared at least sincere; yet he contrived to delay, and at length to evade the promised settlement on her son. Meantime the King’s spirits declined ; nothing, as it was commonly said, went near his heart, for in truth he had no heart; but the inextricable web of difficulties in which his duplicity and extravagance had involved him began to prey on his mind. He had been false to all, he was mistrusted by all; insignificant abroad, contemp¬ tible at home: while Louis XIV. sick of his vacillating, and tired of his com¬ plaints and his mean importunities, not only withheld his pension and intrigued with his subjects against him, but actually threatened to publish through Europe the articles of their secret treaties, which would not only have rendered him detestable in the eyes of all men, but might have proved fatal to his crown and life;*—his father had lost his head for much less cause. Charles was struck at once with terror and rage to be thus over-reached; his gaiety forsook him, and with it his good-breeding and good-nature, which were mere manner and temperament. To his natural laziness was added extreme depression of spirits, and a sudden and unusual fit of jealousy increased his ill- humour. In 1684, the Grand-Prieur de Vendome,-f- brother to the Duke of Vendome, came over from France on some secret mission, and had particular orders to ingratiate himself with the Duchess of Portsmouth. This Grand. Prieur appears to have possessed in himself a rare union of qualifications ; he was prelate, statesman, soldier, courtier, and man of gallantry;—very hand¬ some, and very slovenly. He began by losing his money to the Duchess, and then, under pretence of state affairs, was so frequently closeted with her, that the King, roused from his usual indolence and indifference, ordered the Grand-Prieur to quit England. Yet his behaviour to the Duchess at this * Barillon, the French envoy, confesses that he had a discretionary power to threaten Charles with this discovery, but was to keep it in reserve as a stroke of thunder. t He was the grandson of Henri Quatre, consequently cousin to the King. He came over first in 1680. 190 DUCHESS OE PORTSMOUTH. very time displayed an increase of fondness and confidence, and vrhether there were any real grounds for this suspicion, remains doubtful. Such was at this period the alteration in Charles’s spirits and deportment, that the Duchess of Portsmouth began to tremble for him and for herself. When she was about to make a journey to Bath, whither Sir Charles Scar¬ borough (the Court physician) had ordered her. Lord Sunderland stopped her departure, by asking her if she could be such a fool as to let the King feel he could do without her.? And taking advantage of her fondness for her lover,* his fertile brain and restless spirit, which seem to have “ toiled in frame of villainies,” conceived a new plot; he persuaded the Duchess that the only means of restoring the King to health and spirits, was to prevail on him to change his measures entirely, reconcile himself to the parliament and people, banish the Duke of York, and recall Monmouth.'f' The Duchess listened ; always impo¬ tent in mind, facile as she was headstrong, and without any fixed principle of conduct, except that of securing the King’s affections and her own power over him, she readily lent herself to Sunderland’s projects; but in the very com¬ mencement of this new intrigue Charles was seized with apoplexy. It must be allowed that the deportment of the Duchess of Portsmouth, in his last moments, considering her situation and her tenets of belief, did her some honour. She had often been compared to Alice Pierce in the lampoons of the days, but her conduct was very different. It was made a subject of reproach to her, that she was found seated by the King’s pillow and sup¬ porting his head, where the Queen ought to have been, (but where the Queen xoas not) ; and it was considered “ a piece of indecency” that she had desired Bishop Kenn to take the Duke of Richmond to his father to receive his last blessingbut her solicitude on these points does not surely deserve so hard a construction. On the second day of the King’s seizure, Barillon writes, that he found the Duchess in her apartment overwhelmed with affliction, but that instead of speaking of her own grief or her own affairs, she appeared ex- * The expressions used by Dalrymple. t Lord Sunderland’s aim was to ingratiate himself with the Prince of Orange, whose party was becoming every day stronger in England. J The good bishop was much blamed for his compliance.—Vide Burnet. This was the same Bishop who, when Charles II. lodged at his hou.se at Winchester, refused to admit Nell Gwynn into it. The King put himself into a passion ; but Nell defended the bishop, observed that he only did his duty, and retired voluntarily to another lodging. DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 191 tremely anxious for the state of the King’s soul. “ Nobody,” said she, “ tells him of his condition, or speaks to him of God. I cannot with decency enter the room ; the Duke of York thinks only of his affairs. Go to him, I conjure you, and warn him to think of what can be done to save the King’s soul; lose no time, for, if it be deferred ever so little, it will be too late !” She had all along been in the secret of Charles’s real sentiments with regard to religion, and a priest being brought, he died in the profession of the Catholic faith. He frequently recommended the Duchess of Portsmouth and her son to his successor, “ In terms,” says Burnet, “ as melting as he could fetch out;” and after his death, the first visit of condolence which James the Second paid was to the Duchess of Portsmouth; the second to the Queen Dowager, whose grief, in truth, was the more apocryphal of the two. Soon after the death of Charles the Second, the Duchess of Portsmouth retired to France, carrying with her a large sum in money and jewels; and from this time, though her life was prolonged beyond the usual term of humanity, very few particulars are known concerning her. She lived at first with considerable splendour, but lost immense sums at play ; and her pension from England being stopped, it appears that she was reduced to great difficulties. She came over to England in 1699, and found her son the Duke of Richmond married to Lady Anne Brudenell, widow of Lord Bellasys, and the father of three children. She returned to Paris, but came over again in 1715, and was presented to the Princess of Wales, afterwards Queen Caroline.* Her object, it is said, was to obtain a pension from the English Government: if she had the assurance to ask it, apparently the Government had not the assurance to grant it. In 1718 she was a poor pensioner on the French Court, and was living on an allowance of eight hundred a year. In the Memoirs of the Due de Saint-Simon she is thus incidentally mentioned : “ Le Regent accorda a la Duchesse de Portsmouthe 8,000 liv. d’augmen- tation de pension a 12,000 liv. qu’elle en avait deja: elle etait fort vieille, tres convertie et penitente, tr^s mal dans ses affaires, reduite a vivre dans sa * At the first drawing-room held hy George I., the Duchess of Portsmouth, the Countess of Dorchester, ci-devant mistress of James II. ; and the Countess of Orkney, mistress of William III., found themselves standing together in the royal presence. “ Good Lord !” exclaimed Lady Dorches¬ ter, whose impudence equalled her wit, “ who would have thought that we three- should have met here !” They had all been raised to the Peerage on the same terms. 192 DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. carapagne. II etait juste et de bon exemple de se souvenir des services ira- portants et continuels qu’elle avait rendus de tres bonne grace a la France, du temps qu’elle 6tait en Angleterre, maitresse tr^s-puissante de Charles II.” Voltaire, who saw her about this time at the age of seventy, describes her as still surprisingly beautiful, “ avec une figure encore noble et agreable, que les annees n’avaient point fletrie.” The last years of her life were spent in retirement, and in a penitence which we may hope to be sincere. She died at Paris in 1734, in her eighty- seventh year. The Duchess of Portsmouth had a younger sister, Henriette de Que- roualle, whom she invited over to England, and married to Philip seventh Earl of Pembroke. He was a man of violent and eccentric temper; she lived most unhappily with him, and he treated her so ill, that the Duchess threatened to make the King interfere. The Earl made a brutal reply, which silenced her, and his death soon after (in 1683) relieved his wife from his tyranny. This Countess of Pembroke had a daughter married to the son of the infamous Judge Jefferies. It is, perhaps, worth remarking, that the first company of French actors who ever appeared in England, came over for the amusement of the Duchess of Portsmouth ; and through her patronage were for a time so followed by the Court and the public, as to excite the envy and despair of the English players, and call down a bitter satire from Dryden, who wrote one of his pro¬ logues expressly to turn them into ridicule. The pictures of the Duchess of Portsmouth are very numerous, and easily recognised; for though her face had not much expression, its extreme loveliness, the peculiar beauty of the full lips, and a childish sweetness and simplicity in the look, give to all her pictures a very distinct character. There is a splendid full-length of her at Dunham Massey, the seat of the Earl of Stamford. Another, equally fine, at Blenheim. The picture of her at Hampton Court is by Gascar, a French painter, whom she brought over and patronized ; that at Goodwood, in the possession of her descendant the Duke of Richmond, I presume to be by the same artist. At Kensington, there is a DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 193 portrait of her by Verelst, holding a wreath of flowers. There is a picture of her at Holland-house, and two at Strawberry-hill. Lely painted a picture representing Charles and the Duchess of Ports¬ mouth as Cymon and Iphigenia. Along the margin of the fount was laid, Attended by her nymphs, a sleeping maid. * » * * The fool of nature stood with stupid eyes, And gaping mouth that testified surprise. Fix’d on her face, nor could remove his sight. New as he was to love, and novice in delight ! Long mute he stood- This picture is mentioned by Horace Walpole as being missed or lost from the royal collection. Either the original or a most admirable copy is in the possession of Sir Gerard Noel. It is the only known picture of the Duchess in which the face is represented in profile, and nothing can exceed it in voluptuous beauty. There was another picture, representing the Duchess and her son, as the Madonna and child, which was painted for a rich convent in France, and used as an altar-piece. It may account for this not singular piece of profane¬ ness to remark, that the Duchess was regarded at one time by the most bigot¬ ed party in France, as a chosen instrument of Heaven for the conversion of the King of England and his people. The engraving is from the celebrated picture at Althorpe, one of the finest of all. It was painted by Lely soon after her arrival in England, it repre¬ sents her as an Arcadian Berg^re- -A peeress there, iu ermined pride. Is here, Pastora by a fountain’s side ! In the original there is an emblematical lamb, which is omitted in the en- ^aving for want of space ; the same style of beauty, striking and perfect in its way, without being intellectual or interesting, prevails through all the known portraits of this “ tres puissante maitresse.” 2 c THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. Fair, kind, and true, is all the argument. Shakspeare. Lady Mary Butler was the youngest daughter of James the Great Duke of Ormonde, consequently the sister of the Countess of Chesterfield and of the gallant Lord Ossory, of whom some account has already been given. She was born in 1646, when the Duke her father was Lord Lieutenant of Ireland for Charles 1. Soon afterwards, in consequence of the distracted state of the country, Ormonde was obliged to send his wife and children abroad. Lady Mary was then an infant about two years old, and she continued under the care of her mother, who resided privately at Caen, or at the Hague, until the Restoration. In 1662 the Duke her father was again, and under hap¬ pier auspices, appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland; and in the same year, on the 2Tth of October, the whole family being once more assembled at the ancient seat of the Butlers, Kilkenny Castle, Lady Mary was married to William Lord Cavendish, son and heir of the third Earl of Devonshire; she was then in her sixteenth year, and Lord Cavendish about two-and- twenty. This union, according to the manners of that day, had been pre¬ viously arranged between the parents on both sides; but apparently there was no reluctance on the part of the bride, still less on that of the young bride¬ groom, who was already as much distinguished for his gallantry and accomplish¬ ments, as she was for beauty, gentleness, and modesty. Carte, the prolix but faithful historian of the Ormonde family, pauses in his narrative of great events and political revolutions, to dwell for a moment on these auspicious y-. 1 . ■ .1 > ; V y > »^ ■f 3 ; •> ts % > • y-’ > •* \ 'i* fc»* <- •> ’* -A S' •• -», . 1 • -JT ’ •<%. - V ^ ^ V '.. ^ - • - > ”v - f ■ ■ ' ■ r*-**<- . . ‘•' '^' ... ■.' ‘ - * V .* ** • 4 -• . > rf> _ . • • i . ■* - .' * • ... ^ '^' .^vV I ■* JL * 1*^ * , ' - - ~ JL * -f ■' ■ ' .^ v.-, Vt^- .-■, -Jt ' . • I.' . . • " ■ ^ ^ ■•■ - w ■V y,. ■ • ’.>''' • • -- .♦ 5t' 9 ^ '\c t ■■a* -j >■ *■ .i *~ * . . »• % <. .y •^ •• ■ .: .. .•»>'- ... w . * * ; .’^ - ./ ' ■'' *''*■> ^ ' ■■ * "■■ '-. • -% '%• . '.. .. i . , . .. ' ■■'■■:*^.'’ - 1 -. v" ••''-v• ^ ^ ^ v;* .j. .' : V V-. '‘-Z -.- .V I.*--'. -:i >.»■ '.'-v; ' • ..-i’ ■ ; • ■ ■ -. * ‘‘1 '*• ^'.niv-r'*' *• ^ ■'* ' - t. y ‘ • . . .* ■ ' !.>« '^' . s' ’v '' . '-T J ^ ^ 'i f. .V. i ^. ■ V. ^ f. ‘ r- ”-■ • 7”* « •:’ V > %"-■ • f.'4f:|-"5-.- V f' - %-■■; -ryW:" - iT ‘ * 9' .;.— 0 ^ . 4 .. . En^ravML by ‘— DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 195 nuptials. He tells us that “ it were more easy to imagine than to describe the vast resort of persons of distinction, especially of the relations of the family, which were drawn together by this solemnity, and the glee and satis¬ faction which appeared in all faces upon so joyful an occasion and so happy a change of fortune, after so many dreary years of banishment, dispersion, and confusion.” If there was one clouded brow in the chapel of Kilkenny Castle, when Lady Mary gave her hand to the young heir of the Cavendishes, it must have been that of poor Lady Chesterfield or her moody Lord. Their domes¬ tic felicity was at this time not quite perfect; but the occasion on which they were assembled, the presence of the Duchess of Ormonde, who had lately taken pains to reconcile her charming but giddy daughter with her “ Mari Loup-garou,” prevented any display of temper beyond a frown or a pout, and all was splendid hilarity and genuine Irish hospitality. The Duke of Ormonde kept open house till Chi’istinas, and the bridal party did not return to England till the following summer. After her marriage. Lady Mary bore the title of Lady Cavendish during the whole of the reign of Charles II., as her husband did not succeed to the Earldom till 1686.* This noble, beautiful, and virtuous lady, as she is styled by her Lord's biographers, appears to have resembled her lovely sister-in-law Lady Ossory, in disposition as in destiny. She was united to one of the most illustrious characters of the age ; but in herself, of so gentle and unobtrusive a temper, so little formed for ambition or display, that she is principally interesting from the extraordinary endowments and splendid career of her husband. Lord Cavendish appears to have possessed every quality which could excite the affection and admiration of his youthful bride, and every propensity that could militate against her happiness. If it be true, as all his biographers assert, that they lived in uninterrupted harmony,f it is the strongest and most comprehensive eulogium that could be pronounced on her temper and charac¬ ter. We do not hear much of the lady during the first years of her marriage ; * In the present time she would have been entitled Lady Mary Cavendish, being the daughter of a Duke, wedded to the son of an Earl. f Dr. Kippis in the Biogra. Brit., and Dr. Keniiet’s Memoirs of the Cavendishes. 2c 2 196 DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. but a glance at Lord Cavendish’s known character and pursuits, will show that he must frequently have tried her forbearance, alarmed her affection, and pained her heart. He was uncommonly handsome and graceful, brave even to rashness; magnificent to profusion in his habits and expenditure; witty, and yet never even in that licentious age, “ forgot the distinction between the profane wit and the gentleman ;” * he united an inflexible temper with an exceeding softness of manner and suavity of deportment, so that while his friends could not presume on his courtesy, his enemies could not resist the attraction of his manner. Perhaps he was married too young, for we find him leading, after his marriage, the life which a dissipated young noble now leads before he has made up his mind to settle down into matrimony. His love of pleasure, his passion for gambling and the race-course, and other exti’avagancies, appear to have frequently enraged the old Earl his father, and plunged him into difficulties. Moreover, (and this looks ill for poor Lady Cavendish’s domestic happiness,) we find that the King forbid him the house of Nell Gwynn, or rather forbid Nell to see him ; and he was in strict intimacy with the Duke of Monmouth, Tom Thynne, Lord Dorset, and other distinguished roues of that time, although he does not figure in De Gram- mont’s Memoirs; and yet in the midst of these follies, he had qualities which must have rendered him as interesting and beloved in private, as his pub¬ lic career vvas historically glorious. His chivalrous gallantry often gave his wife occasion to tremble for his life. About six years after his marriage, when Montagu was appointed ambassador to France, Lord Cavendish accompa¬ nied him to Paris; while there, he was one evening on the stage of the opera,*}* when some young officers of the royal guard came on, flushed with wine and insolence; one of them addressed to him an insulting question, which Lord Cavendish immediately answered with a blow ; the whole party then drew their swords and rushed upon him: he set his back against one of the side-scenes, and defended himself for some time with the utmost bravery, but after receiving several wounds, he must have been overpowered by numbers, and probably murdered on the spot, if a Swiss in Montagu’s service, a man of uncommon strength and stature, had not suddenly caught him in his arms and flung him into the pit—he was thus saved ; but in the fall one of the iron spikes caught his arm and tore it severely. His conduct on this occasion, * This vvas said of him by Dryden. f Both in the English and the French Theatres a part of the audience were at this time admitted on the stage, and sometimes mingled pell-mell with the players. DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 197 which was quite that of a hero of romance, gave him considerable eclat, not only at Paris but through all Europe; and when Louis XIV. ordered his cowardly assailants to be put under arrest, Cavendish crowned his exploit by generously interceding for their pardon.* His challenge to Count Koningmark, who had been acquitted, (in defiance of the most damning proofs,) of the murder of his friend Thynne, was in the same spirit. He offered to meet the Count in any part of the world, charge the guilt of blood upon him, and prove it with his sword ; but that libertine and fanfaron avoided the encounter.-f* To the valour and bearing of a paladin of old romance, Lord Cavendish added the spirit of an ancient Roman. While his gallantry and love of pleasure brought him into constant association with some of the wildest profligates of the Court, his ardent love of liberty, his enlightened views of policy, his lofty principles of honour and patriotism kept him constantly in opposition to the crooked and despotic measures of the Government.^ He and Lord Russell were considered as leaders of the Whig party; and when his heroic friend was persecuted to death by a venal and dissolute Court, Cavendish, with his characteristic gallantry, was ready to run all risks for his deliverance: he offered to change clothes with him in prison and thus effect his escape; and when this was declined, it was his intention to have waylaid the cavalcade on the road to execution with a troop of armed friends, and to have rescued Lord Russell by open force. But Lord Russell declared, that he would not suffer his friends to risk their lives for his * Vide Sir William Temple’s Letters to him, and Kennet’s Memoirs of tlie Cavendishes. Sir Wil¬ liam thus writes : “I can assure your Lordship, all that can be said to your advantage upon this occa¬ sion is the common discourse here, and not disputed by the French themselves; who say you have been as generous in excusing your enemies, as brave in defending yourself. The Dutch will have it, that you have been tlie first in excess; and say, that such a thing as seven or eight falling upon one would never have been done in any other place but France, nor suffered neither by the rest of the company.”—Sir William Temple’s Letters, vol. i. p. 70. •f See page 99 of this work. X Lord Cavendish would have been esteemed a liberal even in these liberal days, and considering the times in which he lived, we must wonder at the boldness of some of the articles of his political creed ; he was of opinion that Parliament should be triennial, and openly complained (when in the House of Peers) that “ a little dirty borough might be bought for a certain price, as easily as a bullock at Smithfield !” He desired they would inscribe on his tomb. “ Here lies William Cavendish, the loyal subject of good Princes, a hater of tyrants, and by them hated.” 198 DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. sake, and that having submitted to the decision of the laws, he was ready to endure the penalty. Lord Cavendish took leave of his friend as he was led out to death, and Lord Russell, after bidding him farewell, turned back, and in a few energetic words, entreated him to reform his libertine course of life, and reflect ere it was too late. Lord Cavendish made no answer, but wrung his hand and burst into a flood of tears. These last words of his noble friend probably made a salutary impression on the mind and character of Lord Cavendish. We find him thenceforward more retired from the Court, living a good deal on his estates, and devoting much of his time to state affairs ; he is one of the very few public characters of Charles’s time who can be contemplated with unmingled satisfaction. And while “our youth, all livery’d o’er with foreign gold,” were contending for the notice and favour of an arrogant mistress, and our statesmen were selling themselves and betraying each other, Cavendish recalls us to the spirit of classic times:—“ It had been as easy to turn the Sun from his course, as Fabricius from the path of honour !” * These things are matters of history, and are only mentioned here to give some idea of what the wife of such a man ought to have been, and ought to have felt. It is mortifying that we know so little relating to her personal habits; that there is so little mention made of her in the panegyrics on her husband ; and that the epithets, noble, beautiful, and virtuous, must comprise all that can be said concerning her. Yet this is perhaps the most significant praise of her character, as well as the most satisfactory evidence of her general contented and tranquil existence. The crimes or miseries of women make a noise in the world ; their virtues and their happiness alike seek the shade. From the few allusions to Lady Cavendish, we may judge that she had sense enough to be proud of her husband, and affection enough to pardon his follies ; that she was domestic, of a most affectionate disposition, attached to her own family, and tenderly devoted to her children. In the first years of her marriage, when she appeared at Court so very young, and with all the advantages of birth and beauty, a safeguard was formed around her in the virtues of her nearest connexions. Her own admirable mother, the Duchess of Ormonde, and her aunt. Lady Hamilton, lived revered and respected in the Court. Her lovely sister-in-law. Lady Ossory, and her cousin. Miss Hamilton, * The celebrated exclamation of King Pyrrhus. ■\ See Lady Russell’s Letters. DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 199 were among its chief ornaments. The catastrophe of her sister, Lady Chester¬ field, though not necessary as a warning, probably contributed, with other causes, to render her guarded in her conduct. Her mother-in-law, the Countess of Devonshire,* with whom she chiefly resided when in the country, seldom came to London ; she was an excellent and amiable woman, and had been a cele¬ brated beauty in her day :—while Lord Cavendish’s grandmother, the Countess Dowager,"I* who lived for fourteen years after his marriage, was really one of the most extraordinary and celebrated women of the time. She preserved in her old age the talents, vivacity, and active habits of business which had distinguished her youth, resided almost constantly in or near London, J and her house was the resort of wits, poets, statesmen, in short, it was the Holland House of that day. The King frequently dined with her in the beginning of his reign ; and her exertions in the royal cause, her correctness of conduct, and her commanding intellect, rendered her an object of general respect. Among these family connexions. Lady Cavendish must have passed many years of her life, fulfilling her various duties with a blameless dignity. Her eldest son William was born in 1672; her second son, Henry, in 1673, and she had a daughter and another son born previous to 1680.|| In 1684, Lord Cavendish succeeded to his father’s titles and estates, and became fourth Earl of Devon¬ shire ; and, during the reign of James, both he and the Countess absented themselves almost entirely from Court. The Earl was deeply involved in all the secret measures which led to the Revolution. Yet, in the midst of these plots, and while his liberty and even his head were in danger, he amused himself with building and improving his noble seat at Chatsworth, the ♦ Lady lilizabeth Cecil, daughter of the Earl of Exeter. There is a lovely picture of her by Var.dyke at Burleigh House; and another, either a duplicate or a good copy, at Hardwick. When her son. Lord Devonshire, was fined thirty thousand pounds for pulling Colonel Culpeper’s nose within the verge of the Court, “ His mother, the Countess, who, had long absented herself from Court, made her appearance in the circle, and saying she was come to discharge her son’s fine,” humbly desired that his Majesty w’onld accept of her delivering up bonds and other acknowledgments for above sixty thousand pounds, lent by her husband and his mother to his royal father and brother in their greatest extremities ” This was refused, but the decree was afterwards reversed as illegal and unjust. f Christian Bruce, daughter of Edward Lord Bruce. It has been the destiny of the noble house of Cavendish to be allied almost from generation to generation to remarkable women ; and of these, Christian, second Countess, was one of the most remarkable; she had all the good qualities of the celebrated Bess of Hardwick of Elizabeth’s time, and none of her failings. J At Roehampton. 11 The dates of their birth do not appear. See one of Lady Russell’s letters, written in 1685, in w'hich she mentions that on occasion of a fire (at Montagu House) Lady Devonshire’s youngest boy was brought by his nurse, wrapt up in a blanket, and put to bed with her own son. Letters, p. 89. 200 DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. principal front of which was erected by him as it now stands. In the be¬ ginning of the eventful year 1688, he came up to London to complete the arrangements for the marriage of his eldest son with the eldest daughter of his friend Lord Russell. Lord Cavendish was not then quite seventeen, and the bride about fifteen. Within two months after their nuptials, in August 1688, he sent his son abroad to travel for his improvement, perhaps also to be out of the way of the approaching troubles. The bride remained at Woburn, under the care of her mother. Lady Russell; and Lady Devon- .shire retired to Chatsworth, while the Revolution was effected, in which the Earl took so distinguished a share. In February 1689, when William and Mary were proclaimed King and Queen, we find the Countess of Devonshire present at their first drawing¬ room, when she presented her daughter-in-law to the Queen. The lively and naive letter of the young Lady Cavendish on this occasion, addressed to her “ beloved Sylvia,'"* gives the following account of her reception at Court; “ You may imagine I was very much pleased to see Ormanzor and Phenixana, (z. e. William and Mary,) proclaimed King and Queen of England, in the room of King James, my father’s murderer. There was wonderful ac¬ clamations of joy, which, though they were very pleasing to me, yet frightened me too; for I could not but think Avhat a dreadful thing it is to fall into the hands of the rabble—they are such a strange sort of people. At night I went to Court with my Lady Devonshire, and kissed the Queen’s hands and the King’s also,” &c.: in another part of the letter she says, with amusing naivete, that when the deputation from Parliament waited on William and Mary to offer the crown, “ The Prince answered them in a few words, and the Princess made curtsies.”*f* In truth, it was rather an em¬ barrassing situation for the daughter who had come over to ascend her father’s throne. But in this case as in others, “ silence spoke consent.” After the Revolution the Earl of Devonshire was, in consideration of his * These sentimental designations, taken from the French romances, were fashionable at the time and long afterwards.—See the Spectator in many places. f See the whole letter, printed in the ife of Lady Russell, prefixed to the letters to her husband. There is a lovely picture of young Lady Cavendish, the writer of the above letter, in the gallery at Hardwick ; the lips are full and red, and a little pouting; there is something very fine and patri¬ cian-like in the turn of the head, and the whole air and expression. She was afterwards the second Duchess of Devonshire. Her young husband returned from his travels in the beginning of the year 1690 ; they afterwards lived happily together, and she became the mother of nine children. DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 201 great services, created Duke of Devonshire and Marquis of Hartington, and after filling some of the highest offices in the state, he died in 1707. The Duchess survived him about three years, and having lived to see around her a numerous family of hopeful grandchildren, she died at Devonshire-house, July 31, 1710, at the age of sixty-eight, and was buried near her father in Westminster Abbey. William, her eldest son, was the second Duke of Devonshire; her second son. Lord Henry Cavendish, a young man of uncommon talents and merit, and infinitely beloved by his family, died in the life-time of his mother, in his twenty-seventh year. He left one daughter, who was married to the seventh Earl of Westmoreland. The Duchess of Devonshire’s third son. Lord James Cavendish, of Stayley Park, died in 1751. Her only daughter. Lady Elizabeth, married Sir John Wentworth, of Broadsworth, in Yorkshire. The accompanying portrait has been engraved after the original picture in the gallery at Hardwick, where there are also several portraits of her gallant, accomplished, and illustrious husband; one of these, which represents him on horseback in full dress d la Louis quatorze, is a confused but imposing mass of wig and embroidery ; but all the portraits, however various in merit or costume, agree in one point—they are all eminently handsome and dignified— in the noblest style of manly beauty. MISS JENNINGS, AFTERWARDS DUCHESS OF TYRCONNEL. Say, why are Beauties praised and honour’d most ? The wise man’s passion, and the vain man’s toast ? Why dec'lt’d with all that land or sea afford ? Wliy angels call’d, and angel-like adored ? How vain arc all these glories, all our pains. Unless good sense preserve what Beauty gains ! Pope, When the Duchess of York found herself under the necessity of reform¬ ing her establishment of honourable handmaidens, she was resolved not to leave the selection of her new attendants to chance or interest, but to depend on her own taste alone, and listen to no recommendations which were not presented in person. Her choice fell on Miss Temple, Miss Jennings, and Miss Churchill; we will discuss the last mentioned first. Hamilton, who has done for the Court of Charles II. what Ovid did for that of Olympus,—revealed to mocking mortals “ all the laughing scandal of the lower sky,” has treated Miss Churchill with peculiar malice, and even denied her any pretensions to that beauty, which she certainly did possess if her portraits may be trusted. She was the eldest sister of him who was afterwards the great Duke of Marlborough, but at this time merely an ensign in the Guards, and page of honour to the Duke of York. When they were first in¬ troduced to the Court, about the year 1664, Arabella Churchill was sixteen, and her brother about fourteen years old ; and certain scandal-mongers affirm, that young Churchill’s rapid promotion was owing to his sister’s in a different sense. She captivated the Duke of York more by the charms of her figure and manner, than her face; and she had not virtue enough to resist his importunities, or wit enough to make the best conditions for herself; but MISS JENNINGS. 203 having, unhappily, forfeited her place and title of maid of honour, did not seek to parade or ennoble her degradation. She was the mother of four children by the Duke; her eldest son, James Fitz-James, was the famous Marshal Due de Berwick, one of the greatest military characters of the last century ; and one of her daughters married the first Earl of Waldegrave. Arabella Churchill afterwards married Colonel Godfrey of the Jewel Office, with whom she lived in the utmost harmony, and was respected for the correctness of her conduct and her domestic virtues. She died in 1730, at the great age of eighty-two, having survived her lover, husband, and her children. The feelings and situation of this woman about the beginning of the last century, when the Sovereign who had loved her had been tumbled from his throne, and was living a poor exile; when her husband was serving against him; when her brother was opposed to the armies of Louis XIV. and her not less illustrious son defending the interests of that monarch in Spain, must have been strange and interesting. Which is the side that 1 must go withal ? I am with all; each army hath a liand— Whoever wins on that side shall 1 lose— Assured loss before the match be played! Miss Temple and Miss Jennings were of different metal—metal purer as well as more attractive. Anne Temple, the eldest of the two, was the daughter of a Warwickshire gentleman of ancient family ; she was beautiful, something of a brunette in complexion, had a slight graceful figure, fine teeth, with a peculiar softness in her eye and smile. Her disposition was gentle and confiding, but vain and credulous ; in short. Miss Temple thrown among the shoals and quicksands of the Court, seemed destined either to sink ingloriously, or make an illustrious shipwreck of her maiden honour. How each Pirate eyes So weak a vessel and so rich a prize ! But she is a proof that simplicity and purity of mind are, in certain cases, a better safeguard than pride, or wit, or cunning; in spite of the predictions of those who had watched her debut and knew something of her character— in spite of the machinations of Rochester, who laid siege to her with equal art and audacity. Miss Temple came off victorious; for in this case escape was victory. After being in the service of the Duchess of York for about two years, she married Sir Charles Lyttelton, who had lately returned from 2 D 2 204 MISS JENNINGS. the government of Jamaica, and had greatly distinguished himself during the civil wars by his loyalty and military talents. Sir Charles was nearly forty, the lady not more than eighteen ; yet the union proved in all respects happy ; she was the mother of thirteen children ; the rest of her life was spent almost entirely at Hagley, where she died in 1718. It is curious that her son Sir Thomas Lyttelton also married a Miss Temple, who was a maid of honour,* but no relation to his mother’s family ; and her grandson was the first and celebrated Lord Lyttelton. Last came the heroine of our last memoir—the fair, the elegant, the fasci¬ nating Frances Jennings; she who moved through the glittering court “in un¬ blenched majesty;” who robbed the men of their hearts, the women of their lovers, and never lost herself! The very model of an intellectual coquette; perhaps a little too wilful, a little too wary for a perfect woman; but in the flush and bloom of early youth, and in the dangerous situation in which she was now placed, the first of these qualities was only an additional charm, the last a necessary safeguard. As to hearts, and such things,—to bring them to Charles’s Court was mere work of supererogation ; it was like trading to the South-sea islands with diamonds and ingots of gold, where glass-beads and infoil bear just the same value and answered quite as well. Frances Jennings was the eldest of the three daughters, coheirs, of Richard Jennings, Esq. of Sunbridge, near St. Albans: her mother was Frances Thornhurst, daughter of Sir Gifford Thornhurst, a Kentish Baronet. If we may give any credit whatever to the on dits of that time, the mother of Miss Jennings was more remarkable for her beauty than her discretion. Of the two other daughters, Barbara became the wife of Mr. Griffiths, a man of large fortune, and of her we hear no more. Sarah, who was younger than Frances by twelve or fourteen years, became the famous Duchess of Marlborough. Miss Jennings was about sixteen when she was appointed Maid of Honour to the Duchess of York. She had no sooner made her appearance in the Court circle, than she was at once proclaimed “ oltre le Belle, bella !” Over Miss Hamilton and Miss Stuart she had the advantage of youth and novelty, and over the others every advantage of mind and person. Her form was that of a * Christian Temple daughter of Sir Richard Temple of Stow, ancestor to the Duke of Ruckingham. MISS JENNINGS. 205 young Aurora newly descended to the earth ; she never moved without disco¬ vering some new charm, or developing some new grace. Her eyes and hair were light, and her complexion transcendantly fair ; but the rich profusion of her long tresses, the animated bloom upon her cheek, and the varying expres¬ sion of her countenance and smile, left her nothing of thsA fadeur which often accompanies exceeding fairness of complexion. Her mouth, as Hamilton tells us, was not perhaps the smallest, but was certainly the loveliest mouth in the world. But Nature, in forming this exquisite chef d'ceuvre, had in mercy to mankind left part of her handywork imperfect. Some critics declared that the tip of her nose was not “ de la derniere delicatesse that her hands and arms were not quite worthy of the small foot and delicate ankle; and it was admitted that her eyes were not quite as perfect as her mouth. To her external attractions. Miss Jennings added what was rarely met with in the Court of Charles, all the witchery of mind and all the dignity of virtue. Her conversation and deportment were alike irresistible, from a just and delight¬ ful mixture of softness and sprightliness. A little petulance and caprice of temper ;—a little heedlessness of manner; a good deal of her sex’s pride; yet more vanity; a quickness of imagination, which sometimes hurried her to the very verge of an imprudence, and a natural acuteness and readiness of wit which as often extricated her; — Yielding by nature, stubborn but for fame. —Such, in early youth, was the character of La Belle Jennings. No sooner had the Duke of York beheld this fair frigate sailing in the wake of his consort, than he regarded her, as did others, as his predestinate and lawful prize, upon the principle which his brother Charles had created into “ a right divine,” viz.—that his wife's maids of honour were bound to his ser¬ vice as well as her’s. The Duke preferred his suit, and found, to his unspeak¬ able surprise, that Miss Jennings did not subscribe to his favourite doctrine of non-resistance. His Highness, who seems to have made love “ avec toute la grace d’une chenille qui se traine sur les roses,” paraded his awkward devo¬ tion without scruple or disguise. He began by opening a battery of glances, —Miss Jennings looked another way. He next found words of pretty plain import,—Miss Jennings was either deaf or most respectfully slow of compre¬ hension. His presents were as ill received as his protestations, and his mag- 206 MISS JENNINGS. nificent promises excited only a smile, beautiful indeed,—but without even an accompanying blush to soften its provoking—its poignant significancy. The Duke could not believe in his own defeat. It is true, he had lately brooked a repulse from the high-born, high-minded Miss Hamilton, who had the blood of half the nobility in her veins ; but the spirit of this daughter of a country squire was an unheard-of assumption. “ Que faire pour apprivoiser line impertinente vertu qui ne voulait point entendre raison ?” He next tried the effect of billets-doux, and finding there was no other way to ensure their reception, he became his own Mercury. Day after day he contrived to insi¬ nuate into the fair lady’s pocket, or into her muff, notes in the usual style— prodigal of oaths, vows, promises. As etiquette did not allow Miss Jennings to fling them back in his Highness’s face, she affected perfect unconsciousness, and only waiting till he turned away, carelessly drew out her handkerchief, or shook her muff, and lo! a shower of royal billets-doux—which fell around her for the edification of whoever might chose to pick them up.* The gen¬ tlemen wondered ; the ladies tittered; the poor Duchess,-}- who, in her adven¬ titious elevation, sighed, and “ was no Duchess at her heart,” could not but for¬ give an impertinence which avenged her. The Duke, angry and disconcerted, but too cold and proud to persist in a suit which only rendered him ridicu¬ lous, carried his “ lourds hommages” to the feet of Miss Churchill, and found that she at least was inclined “ to listen to reason.” The fame of Miss Jennings now spread from St. James’s to Whitehall so much beauty, so much vivacity, and so much discretion, appeared incompre¬ hensible. The King himself was piqued to enter the lists, merely, as he said, to convince himself that it was to the unskilful tactics of the gentlemen, not to the virtue of the lady, that this marvel was to be attributed. He set him¬ self, therefore, first half seriously, and then in very resolute earnest, to study Miss Jennings’s fortifications. What might have been the event history may not presume to guess ; but apparently, his progress was not encouraging, and Miss Stuart, who was then at the height of her power, was not inclined to give * Miss Jennings here recalls to mind a story told, 1 believe, by Madame de Sevigne. One of the French Princes of the blood having addressed a pretty bourgeoise rather disrespectfully, she replied with indignation, “ PourDieu ! Monseigneur, votreAltesse a la bont6 d’etre trop insolente 1” t Anne Hyde. t At this time St. James’s Palace was the residence of the Duke and Duchess of York ; the King held his Court at Whitehall. MISS JENNINGS. 207 way to this new rival. She was seized with a fit of pouting and penitence,— dropped some hints about the Duke of Richmond, or a convent, which brought the volatile Monarch back to his allegiance, and all the honours of his sup¬ posed discomfiture rested with Miss Jennings. Scandal was silenced by a triumph which confounded all the calculations of the most knowing in these matters. Those who had ever entertained hopes or designs unworthy of their object now shrunk aloof, despairing to succeed where a King and a Prince had failed ; and honourable suitors flocked around her. Just at this crisis, Richard Talbot returned from Ireland, whither he had gone to forget Miss Hamilton’s charms and cruelty, but apparently without success. On his arrival in the Court, he found Miss Jennings the last new topic of discourse. All voices were raised in admiration of her charms, and wonder at her prudence;—a prudence, which so little accorded with the lively and almost too unguarded frankness of her manner. Dick Talbot, for so he was familiarly designated, was descended from a younger branch of the Talbots of Malahide, who had been settled in Ireland since the days of Henry II. He had attended on the Royal brothers in their exile, and to the Duke of York he was devotedly and blindly attached, partly from a principle of loyalty, and partly from a feeling of gratitude. He was accounted the finest figure and the tallest man in the kingdom, and set off his noble form by a peculiar loftiness in his deportment. For his character, it seems to have combined extremes of good and ill. He was dissi¬ pated, rapacious, boastful, overbearing ; loving bold ends for the sake of their boldness; witty, generous, devoted to his friends, of great talents, headlong passions, and reckless valour.* It had been suspected, before Talbot’s departure for Ireland, that Miss Boynton, one of Queen Catherine’s maids of honour, had indulged for him some partial and fond regards ; and on his reappearance at Court, before he was introduced to Miss Jennings, the love-lorn nymph signalized her tender¬ ness by fainting away. Talbot, as a man and an Irishman, could not behold * The unfavourable character which Clarendon has drawn of Richard Talbot, should be taken with much reservation, when we remember that the Chancellor allows, in so many words, that he was noted for having a prejudice against all the Talbots. 208 MISS JENNINGS. a lady in such a pitiful case without feeling a wish to console her, particularly as Miss Boynton was really very pretty and elegant, though on the smallest and most fairy-like scale of beauty; he therefore began to pay her some attentions. Before he had proceeded beyond a few tender glances and equivo¬ cal compliments, the destinies placed Miss Jennings before him in all her un¬ rivalled attractions ; Miss Boynton was forgotten, and Miss Hamilton no longer regretted ; and as modesty was not among Talbot s qualifications, he at once threw himself at her feet, and tendered himself to her acceptance. We have reason to suppose that Miss Jennings, though something of a coquette, was coquette par calcul, rather than by instinct. She had no desire to extend her conquests, nor to remain in a Court, the dangers of which she began to comprehend; she wished to surrender honourably, and to secure a good establishment. But though the fine exterior and imposing manners of Talbot could not be disregarded, and his fortune and favour at Court had due influence, his self-sufficiency seems to have a little shocked her high spirit; he was more favourably received, than any former suitor; but he was not at once accepted. Talbot, who rightly thought that a woman who hesitates may be considered as won, pressed his suit with all the im¬ petuosity of his character. The Court considered them all but affianced,— when a trifling circumstance destroyed his hopes when nearest their com¬ pletion, and to all human probability for ever. Miss Price, who has already been mentioned, still resided in the Court; but from being a maid of honour, had sunk into the office of bedchamber woman to the Duchess of Cleveland. The worse than equivocal character of Miss Price was perhaps unknown to Miss Jennings, while her wit, good humour, and conversational powers, captivated her, particularly as she took every opportunity of cultivating her good graces. At that time the multi¬ farious occupations and amusements, which women of moderate fortune and comparatively confined education now command, were unknown; and we can scarcely in these days estimate the value of an entertaining companion, to those who had few resources and lively spirits; to those who had no taste for the fadeurs of the eternal French romances;—as little for the excitements of hunt-the-slipper and blind-man’s-buff,—and still less for the mysteries of chain-point and cross-stitch.* * “Women in those days,” says a lively writer, “possessed few of the means of self-amusement now in the hands of almost all the world. Music was cultivated by none but those whose strong MISS JENNINGS. 209 But while Miss Jennings encouraged Miss Price’s visits as a cordial against ennui, and became every day fonder of her society, Talbot viewed this intimacy with deep and well-founded disgust. He ventured to remon¬ strate, but in doing so, assumed a tone which Miss Jennings thought more suitable to a husband of ten years’ standing, than a lover not yet accepted. Her high spirit was up in arms, and she received his interference with such pointed displeasure, and replied with such stinging raillery, that Talbot for a while stood aloof in all the sullenness of offended pride. Miss Jennings, who was not very deeply in love, contrived to console herself; and poor Talbot, unable to carry on his assumed coldness, was again at her feet, all penitence and submission, but was received with such a scornful air, that he suspected a rival in the heart of his imperious mistress, and discovered him at last where he would least have expected to find him. Le Petit Jermyn, who had been banished from the Court on account of the Duchess of Cleveland, had lately re-appeared, and absence had not dis¬ sipated the dazzling halo with which fashion and fancy had arrayed his empty head and insignificant person. This prince of coxcombs cast his eyes on Miss Jennings. She was young, with little experience and much vanity : to bring to her feet a man who was le terreur des maris, et le Jieau des amans, —the desperation of men and the natural taste and talent for it made them overcome all obstacles in its pursuit; drawing, or any taste for the fine arts, seems never to have been thought of, either as an employment of the hands, or a cul¬ tivation of the mind. In spite, tlierefore, of the numberless tapestry chairs, carpets, beds and hangings, now, for the most part, discarded in rags from the garrets of their grand-daughters; an unsatisfied curiosity yet remains as to the amusements of the younger women, whose fortune and rank elevated them above the common every-day household cares of existence.” The following entry in Pepys’s Diary is extremely amusing and characteristic of the manners of the times. “ W^e find them (the Duke and Duchess of York,) at dinner in the great room, unhung; and there was with them my Lady Duchess of Monmouth, the Countess of Falmouth, Castlemaiue, Hen¬ rietta Hide, my Lady Hinchingbroke’s sister, and my Lady Peterborough ; and, after dinner. Sir James Smith and I were invited down to dinner with some of the maids of honour, namely, Mrs. Ogle, Blake, and Howard, (which did me good to have the honour to dine with and look on ;) and the mother of the maids, and Mrs. Howard, the mother of the maid of honour of that name, and the Duke’s housekeeper here. * * * Having dined very merrily we went up, and there I did find the Duke of York and Duchesse, with all the great ladies, sitting upon a carpet on (he ground, there being no chairs, playing at “ 1 love my love with an A, because he is so and so ; and I hate him with an A, because this and that,” and some of them, but particularly the Duchesse herself and my Lady Casllemaine, were very witty.” 2 E 210 MISS JENNINGS. perdition of women,—seemed a conquest worthy of her ; and in the effort to fix this formidable rake, her own feelings became entangled before she was aware. The thinking part of the Court, (if indeed there were any there who thought,) wondered to see the proud, the fair, the elegant Frances Jennings caught in so flimsy a net; and Jermyn plumed himself, as he justly might, on the preference of one so lovely, and hitherto so circumspect. Mean¬ time the Duchess of York began to feel a real and affectionate interest for Miss Jennings'; and as she had refused the protection of the Duke, her own, in the fullest sense of the word, she was now resolved to extend to her. She spoke to Jermyn herself, who declared that his intentions towards Miss Jennings were strictly honourable. The Duchess failed not to publish his reply ; and Miss Jennings was congratulated on having reduced the invincible Jermyn to matrimony and good-behaviour. Talbot, enraged at the levity of his mistress, yet more enraged by the contemptible rival she had given him, withdrew after an ineffectual attempt to win back her heart: in a moment of pique he offered himself to the languishing Miss Boynton, and was accepted. Whether Miss Jennings heard of this with perfect indifference may be doubted; but Jermyn was heir to an Earldom, and twenty thousand a year,* and moreover was very much in love—or seemed so: she therefore consoled herself; only she wondered not a little why the gentleman did not press for the possession of a hand which waited but the formal question to be bestowed on him ; in her heart contrasting his nonchalance with the ardour and assu¬ rance of Talbot. Still, as day after day passed, her wonder grew, and as her wonder grew, her love declined. It was now that Rochester put in practice that celebrated frolic, so amusingly related in De Grammont, and so gravely recorded by his biographer Bishop Burnet.-f* Being forbidden the Court, he assumed the disguise of a German astrologer and physician, and undertook to reveal the past and future to all whom curiosity or credulity might lead to his enchanted den, somewhere near the precincts of Drury-Lane.J Rochester’s wit and self-possession, and his * He was heir to his uncle, the rich old Earl of St. Alban’s. f Vide Life and Death of Wilniot, Earl of Rochester. 'Ehe same freak was played by Sir Francis Delaval in the last century.—See the Life of Mr. Edgeworth. I The neighbourhood of Drury-lane was then the fashionable part of the town, and Bow Street, Covent Garden, was the Bond Street of that day, the lounge and resort of all the wits and the beaux. Drydeu somewhere mentions a lady as overwhelmed with billets-doux from Bow Street ; on MISS JENNINGS. 211 knowledge of all the private scandal of the town, gave him an advantage over all the conjurors before or since. The fame of his extraordinary revelations reached the Court, and spread astonishment and consternation through the whole tribe of abigails : even the Maids of Honour began to flutter with wonder, curiosity, and apprehension. Miss Price failed not to entertain her young friend with all the gossip concerning this astrologer; and as she talked. Miss Jennings grew pensive. She was seized with a violent inclination to consult this wonderful man, who might perhaps be able to explain what appeared so inexplicable in the conduct of her lover. Her precious confldante assured her that nothing was more easy ; and after some consultation, they agreed to dress themselves up as orange girls, in hoods and serge petticoats, and each a basket under her arm, and thus proceed to the den of the magi¬ cian. To disguise the round vulgar figure of Miss Price was not difficult; but the distinguished air of Miss Jennings, whose figure and step were those of a young wood nymph, could scarcely be concealed by any costume. Like the goddess in the Eneid, whose gait betrayed her through her mortal guise, so this “ fair young'celestial” stood revealed through her homely attire. Though perfectly conscious of her own attractions, of this natural consequence of superior beauty she was unhappily unconscious, and the two damsels errant set forth boldly. They made their way from St. James’s, through the Park, to Charing Cross, got into a hackney coach, and desired the man to drive to the residence of the conjuror. On their way they passed the theatre, called then the Duke’s House, where the Queen and the Duchess of York were seated in state. Miss Price, whose spirits were raised to a wild pitch of extravagance, was of opinion that it would infinitely add to the jest of their escapade, if they were to alight, and offer their oranges for sale under the Duchess of York’s box. To this Miss Jennings consented; but just at the entrance of the lobby they encountered Le Beau Sydney, who was hastening to pay his court to the Duchess.* He passed them humming an air, and combing his voluminous wig, too much occupied with his own graces to notice those which lurked under the little hood, and were now averted from his gaze. Not so Killigrew, who next advanced: he was struck at once by the nymph-like gait and air which broke which Sir Walter Scott obseiTes, that, in these latter times, a billet-doux from Bow Street would be much more alarming than flattering. * He was said at the time to be in love with the Duchess of York, or she with him.—See Pepys. 2 E 2 212 MISS JENNINGS. through all disguise, and accosted the pretended orange girl with a freedom which at once offended and terrified her. She began to think that she might sell her oranges too dear; and Miss Price, observing that her indignation would betray her if her fears did not, drew her away in haste. They escaped through the crowd ; and calling another hackney coach, they again set forward, like Britomart and Glance of old,* “ disguised in base attire,” to seek the cave of Merlin. Miss Jennings, whose courage was by this time oozing from the tips of the pretty fingers, still trembled with recent agitation when the coach stopped. Miss Price, whose mind was rather more disengaged, beheld, as she looked up, a pair of eyes fixed on them, with a sort of exulting and malignant leer, which made her blood run cold: they were the very last she would have chosen to meet on such an occasion—those of the witty, insolent, cynical, profligate Brounker; who, being one of the Duke of York’s Equerries, was perfectly well acquainted with them both. Miss Price, in her fright, desired the coachman to drive on and set them down a few yards in advance. Brounker, whose curio¬ sity was strongly excited, followed with the perseverance of a sleuth hound. The coach-door opened. Miss Jennings first stepped out; and, to his asto¬ nishment, an exquisite little foot, in an embroidered slipper, was disclosed from beneath the coarse serge petticoat. They now stood completely be¬ trayed, and the cynical Brounker was enchanted by the discovery. He entertained the most degrading opinion of the sex generally ; and in proportion as the modesty and prudence of Miss Jennings had hitherto disconcerted all his preconceived notions on the subject, was his delight to find her (as he supposed) “ no better than one of those to whom the vulgar give bold titles.” He addressed them, therefore, in their assumed characters, with so much freedom and insolence, that Miss Jennings lost the little self-possession which remained to her, and Miss Price herself knew not which way to look. While Brounker enjoyed and prolonged their embarrassment, some little blackguards in the street began to steal their oranges ; the hackney coachman thought it incumbent on him to protect his fare, and a squabble ensued. A crowd collected ; and the hateful Brounker, having just waited to see them in almost inextricable distress and confusion, and without an attempt to rescue them, glided away through the crowd, exulting in the idea of the exposure he anticipated. The terrified damsels, abandoning their oranges to the enemy, scrambled, into their coach and returned to the palace ; Miss Jennings la- * Faerie Queeiie, book iii. canto iii. MISS JENNINGS. 213 menting her imprudence, and declaring that nothing should induce her to proceed, and Miss Price reviling the stars, as “ more in fault than they.” The malice of Brounker was so far disappointed, that, though the story got abroad, and was related with the usual malicious exaggeration, it fixed no stigma on Miss Jennings; who, probably, on seeing the dilemma in which she was placed, had sense enough and wit enough to join in the laugh at her own folly. It appears that the Duchess pardoned her eto^irderie.* We hear no more of Miss Price and her dangerous visits, and Jerinyn continued his atten¬ tions in a manner which kept all competitors at a distance, but still without proposing that critical and definitive question which his impatient mistress longed to hear. While week after week thus passed, and Miss Jennings fretted at her lover’s unaccountable and capricious delays, the Government planned an ex¬ pedition to the coast of Guinea, and the command was given to Prince Ru¬ pert. The fame of the leader, and the dangers of the expedition, fired the imagination of the young cavaliers, and all who wished to give themselves tclat in the eyes of the public or their mistresses, volunteered to follow the Prince. Amongst others, to the astonishment of the whole Court, Jermyn asked and obtained permission to serve in this expedition. Such a step, taken at such a time, without the slightest reference to her wishes, or any explana¬ tion on his part, appeared to Miss Jennings equally ridiculous and insulting. It at once dissipated all illusion, and cured her of a passion which was more a fancy than a feeling. Jermyn, whose heartless coxcombry could not esti¬ mate the value of the heart with which he trifled, and who enjoyed the idea of calling up some tender tears of regret into the eyes of his fair one, waited on her to impart his warlike projects ; and had prepared himself to resist, most he¬ roically, her despair, and her terrors at the dangers to which he was about to expose his valuable person ; but, instead of finding a dishevelled Ariadne, he was much surprised when the high-spirited Jennings received him with a smile, rallied him with the most poignant wit on his sudden love of glory, and then giving him to understand that she considered this as a final farewell, and had not the slightest wish to see him again, she civilly wished him bon voyage, and curtsied him out of the room. * This adventure occurred about the beginning of February 1665, as appears from Pepys’s Diary, whei'e it is mentioned incidentally (and inaccurately,) among the gossip of the day.—Vol. i. p. 331. 214 MISS JENNINGS. Not satisfied with this private vengeance, she composed a ludicrous parody on one of Ovid’s Epistles, addressed to Jermyn; some copies of which were dispersed through the Court, and covered him with ridicule. It happened, after all, that Jermyn did not sail with the Guinea fleet; but Miss Jennings never gave him another opportunity of pretending to her hand. All his at¬ tempts to reinstate himself in her good graces were treated with scorn. She would not even listen to him ; and, after a while, felt that to be rid of such a pitiful lover, was not so much a loss as an escape. She was in temper as little inclined to indulge eternal regrets as Jermyn was formed to inspire them ; and soon she shone forth afresh in all the lustre of her beauty. The proof she had just given, that where pride and feeling were touched she could rise superior to vanity and interest, lent to her character a higher value, and to her youth and loveliness an additional charm. Number¬ less suitors now pressed around her : among them George Hamilton, (the younger brother of Miss Hamilton,) who has been so frequently mentioned.* He was young, noble, handsome, brave, good-natured—in short, he had but one fault; he had the trick of falling sincerely and desperately in love with every beautiful face that smiled upon him. His heart was a perfect furnace, which never lacked fuel. He had lately been jilted by Lady Chesterfield, and entangled by the coquetry of Miss Stuart; but again free, the sparkling graces of Miss Jennings were not likely to be lost on such an inflammable sub¬ ject. He was captivated at once, and, though he was not “ du hois dont on fait de grandes passions f he was for this time very seriously and sighingly in love. Hamilton’s gay inconstancy was very different from levity : he was not a man who would lightly trust his honour to the keeping of a woman who could lightly esteem her own. He was but a younger brother, with a younger brother’s portion ; and Miss Jennings, in frankly accepting his addresses, gave the best proof that the insinuation conveyed in De Grammont of her being cold and self-interested, is altogether unfounded. They were married in the year 1665. Hamilton soon after accepted mili¬ tary rank in the French service; and, after receiving the honour of knight¬ hood from Charles II., went over to France, accompanied by his wife. It ap¬ pears that he greatly distinguished himself abroad; though for what parti- * See the Memoirs of Lady Chesterfield and Miss Stuart. MISS JENNINGS. 21-3 cular exploits he was soon after created by Louis XIV. Count and Mareschal de-Camp does not appear. He was unfortunately killed in Flanders within a few years after his marriage.* It is to be regretted that the personal notices of Lady Hamilton—or the Countess Hamilton, as she is generally styled — are henceforth extremely confused and obscure : to connect these, and to reconcile various and opposing dates, has been a matter of some difficulty. She could not have been more than two and tv'enty when she was left a beautiful widow with three infant daughters; and it appears, that after her husband’s death she had a pension from France, and returned to England, where her daughters were certainly educated. The next notice I find of her is in Evelyn’s Diary : he notes that when the Earl of Berkeley was appointed Ambassador Extraordinary to Paris in 1675, (for the arrangement of the treaty of Nimeguen,) he accompanied the Earl and his suite as far as Dover. “ There was,” he adds, “ in the company of my Lady Ambassadress, my Lady Hamilton, a sprightly young lady, much in the good graces of the family, wife of that valiant and worthy gentle¬ man, George Hamilton, not long afterwards slain in the wars.-f* She had been maid of honour to the Duchess, and now turned Papist.” The conversion of Lady Hamilton to the Roman Catholic faith appears a very natural consequence of her feelings and position, both before and after her marriage: the Duchess of York, her patroness, had formally renounced Protestantism, to the horror of her father Lord Clarendon, and the conster¬ nation of Dr. Burnet, who had previously had the charge of her conscience. All the Hamiltons were Catholics; and, whatever were the motives, whether feeling, or conviction, or expediency, which induced Lady Hamilton to change * It is difBcult to reconcile the dates in the peerages with the occurrences: the death of Sir George Hamilton is placed in 1667 ; and it is said that he left three daughters. Now, it is clear, from Pepys’s Diary, tliat Miss Jennings was still unmarried in the beginning of the year 1665 ; and from a passage in Evelyn, hereafter quoted, I am inclined to place his death much later. In the notes to the life of Lady Russell, this Sir George Hamilton is confounded with the Colonel Hamilton, (his younger brother, I believe,) who was taken prisoner at the battle of the Boyne. f Query—Hot long after his marriage, or not long after the date of this memorandum ? Evelyn is frequently careless and obscure iu the arrangement of his sentences, else we might presume with certainty that Sir George Hamilton was at this time (1675) living. 216 MISS JENNINGS. her religion, such change was in the sequel sincere, and adhered to with con¬ stancy and fervour. It must have been within the next two years, and while abroad with the Countess of Berkeley, that she again met Talbot, who was residing in France, an exile, not by the course of justice, but certainly not voluntarily, from his own country. He had always been distinguished as a bigoted Papist, and a devoted adherent of the Duke of York ; and while the Popish plot and the Exclusion Bill inflanaed the public mind, his master had insisted on his ab¬ sence as a means of personal safety. The lovers met again thus unexpectedly after a separation of many years, each freed from all former ties, for Talbot was now a widower without children. In her, time and sorrow had subdued the petulance of early feelings ; but still young and not less beautiful than ever, Talbot could not behold her without acknowledging at once “ il segno del antica fiamma.'"' And, in short, they were married at Paris about the year 1679. They were again in England in 1683 and 1684.* Talbot still held his office of groom of the chamber to the Duke of York, and still kept his place in his favour and confidence; while his beautiful wife became as great a favourite with the new Duchess of York, (Maria d’Este,) as she had been with the former one. On the death of Charles II. and the accession of the Duke in 1685, he rewarded the steady and devoted attachment of Talbot by creating him Earl of Tyrconnel; and he was sent to take the command of the King’s forces, and support the Roman Catholic interest in Ireland, whither Lady Tyrconnel accompanied him. The Earl of Clarendon, son of the great Chancellor, was Lord Lieutenant. The military and civil government were thus divided; and the continual dis¬ agreement between Clarendon and Tyrconnel, opposed as they were in religion, politics, temper, and character, kept Ireland in a state of distraction for the next few years. It must be allowed, that while Talbot possessed many splendid qualities, his manners were ill calculated to conciliate exasperated minds. He was insolent and violent, even to the verge of brutality ; and when under the slightest excitation, every second word was a tremendous * It should seem that Talbot was enabled to return to England through the mediation of the Duke of Ormonde, whom he is said to have requited vei'y ungratefully by plotting the Duke’s recall from the Irish Government in 1684.—Vide Diary and Correspondence of Henry Earl of Clarendon. MISS JENNINGS. 217 oath.* The spirit and temper of his wife were of a more intellectual order, and she is said to have ruled him without much effort; but, as all her preju¬ dices and passions held the same direction, she on many occasions only added the fuel of her feminine impatience to his headlong self-will. Lord Melfort, one of James’s most accredited agents in Ireland, speaks of Lady Tyrconnel’s influence over her husband ;f complains in his letters of her dissimulation and her intriguing propensities, and asserts that the King's affairs will never go well till she is persuaded to leave Ireland and return to France. But before we attach too much importance to Lord Melfort’s opinion, we should consider that he hated Lady Tyrconnel, and was himself of a temper so impatient, officious, and meddling, that he became insupport¬ able even to those whom he most wished to serve: he is accused of embroiling the King’s affairs both in Ireland and at St. Germain’s, and was at length sent out of the way under the pretence of a mission to Rome. It is also observable that, though we have few particulars of the conduct of Lady Tyrconnel during this eventful period, the terms in which she is alluded to are generally fa¬ vourable to her character, and leave a strong impression of her talents and her prudence, as well as of her influence. At the Revolution, Tyrconnel, faithful to the interests of his old master, refused to take the oath of allegiance to William III., and placed himself at the head of King James’s party in Ireland ; and James rewarded his fidelity by sending him over the patent of Viceroy, and appointing him Commander-in- chief. Lady Tyrconnel, from this time, resided in Dublin Castle with her three beautiful daughters, now growing into womanhood. She held her * The “ swaggering ” deportment of Talbot is very graphically described in some of Clarendon’s letters ; but we must recollect that all the usual authorities on the subject of Talbot’s character and government are liable to suspicion, as proceeding from party animosity. Clarendon had inherited his father’s hatred of the Talbots; and Talbot, who knew but one means to a given end, the short cut of violence, detested the slow, temporizing, insinuating policy of Clarendon. “ Two qualities Talbot possessed in an eminent degree—wit and valour : and if to gifts so brilliant and so Irish be joined devotion to his country, and fidelity to the unfortunate and fated family with whose exile he began life, and with whose ruin he finished it, it cannot be denied that in his character the elements of evil were mixed with much great and striking good. Under happier circumstances, the good might have predominated ; and he whose deeds are held, even by his own family, in such right estimation, might have shed a lustre on his race by those talents and heroism which gave force to his passions and celebrity to his errors.”—Lady Morgan. ■|- In allusion to some measures they were then contemplating, he says pointedly, “ This will draw in iny Lady, and consequently my Lord,” &c.—Vide Macpherson’s State Papers. 2 F 218 MISS JENNINGS. state as Vice-queen with much grace and magnificence ; and while her sister, Lady Churchill, threw all the weight of her influence, talents, and spirit into the opposite party, she supported with yet more enthusiasm the interests of the exiled family, in which all the Hamiltons and all the Talbots were engaged heart and soul. It was during her reign in Ireland—for such it might truly be called—that Lady Tyrconnel married her three daughters by Hamilton to three of the wealthiest and most powerful among the Irish nobles. Elizabeth, the eldest, became the wife of Laurence, first Viscount Rosse; Frances, the second and most beautiful of the three, married Henry, eighth Viscount Dillon; and Mary, the youngest, married Nicholas Viscount Kingsland. They have been since distinguished as “ the three Viscountesses.” In 1689, when James II. had resolved to try his fortune in Ireland, he was met by Tyrconnel and a numerous train of gallant and devoted followers, and conducted to Dublin Castle, where Lady Tyrconnel entertained him and his foreign and Irish adherents with French urbanity and Irish hospitality. On this occasion Tyrconnel was advanced to the dignity of Marquis and Duke of Tyrconnel, and received from the King every mark of affection and confidence. Six months afterwards the battle of the Boyne was fought, in which fifteen Talbots of Tyrconnel’s family were slain ; and he himself fought like a hero of romance. After that memorable defeat. King James and Tyr¬ connel reached Dublin on the evening of the same day. The Duchess, who had been left in the castle, had passed four-and-twenty hours in all the agonies of suspense. But, when the worst was known, she showed that the spirit and strength of mind which had distinguished her in her early days, was not all extinguished. When the King and her husband arrived as fu¬ gitives from the lost battle, on which her fortunes and her hopes had de¬ pended, harassed, faint, and so covered with mud, that their persons could scarcely be distinguished, she, hearing of their plight, assembled all her household in state, dressed herself richly, and received the fugitive King and his dispirited friends with all the splendour of court etiquette. Advancing to the head of the grand staircase with all her attendants, she kneeled on one knee, congratulated him on his safety, and invited him to a banquet; respect¬ fully inquiring what refreshment he would be pleased to take at the moment. James answered, sadly, that he had but little stomach for supper, considering MISS JENNINGS. 219 the sorry breakfast he had made that morning. She, however, led the way to a banquet already prepared ; and did the honours with as much self- possession and dignity as Lady Macbeth, though racked at the moment with equal terror and anxiety. The next day a council was held, when, in spite of the advice of the Duke and Duchess of Tyrconnel, James acceded to the wishes of Lauzun, and his French followers, who were panic-struck, and determined on flying to France. In the confused accounts of the movements of the two parties at this time, we find no farther mention made of the Duchess of Tyrconnel, whose situation must have been in the highest degree interesting and agi¬ tating : it appears, however, that she and her husband quitted Ireland, either in company with the King, or immediately after him, leaving her three married daughters, and taking with her her two children by Tyrconnel. She joined the exiled Court at St. Germain’s, where she remained for several years. In the troublesome times which ensued, Tyrconnel continued to maintain the cause of James II. in Ireland with unshaken loyalty and courage, through evil repute and good repute: he was destined, however, to exhibit another proof of that ingratitude which has been the stigma of the whole race of Stuart, and the curse of those who were devoted to its fortunes. Talbot, who hated the French party, and was disgusted by their insolence and exactions, threw himself into the Irish party; and it is even said that his first wish (so changed was he now by time, and cares, and calamity,) was to give peace to his own wretched country by acting as moderator between all the factions.* However this may be. King James became mistrustful of his old and faithful servant; and, with a thankless duplicity, sent over a commission, superseding Tyrconnel in all his governments and the chief command : but so loved as well as feared was Tyrconnel throughout the whole country, that it was deemed necessary to keep this commission and his disgrace a profound secret. At length, in 1691, when preparing to defend Limerick for the second time against William HI., Tyrconnel died suddenly by poison administered in a cup of ratafia. The times were so critical, his enemies were so numerous and bitter, and his friends so divided and so wrong-headed, that his death * Harris’s Life of William III. 2 F 2 220 MISS JENNINGS. caused only a temporary excitement: the siege went on, and the celebrated Sarsfield succeeded Talbot in the chief command.* After the death of her husband, the Duchess of Tyrconnel continued to reside abroad till the dispersion of the Court of St. Germain’s, and the marriage of her daughters by Talbot. During this time she appears to have been re¬ duced to great distress and poverty, for she is mentioned among the poor Jacobites who were assisted out of the pension which James II. received from the Pope. She received on this occasion three thousand crowns, (about four hundred pounds;) but it was only a temporary relief. In 1705 she was in England, and had a private interview with her brother-in-law, the Duke of Marlborough, then at the height of his power. Respecting her visit to England, Horace Walpole relates a singular anecdote, for which he does not give his authority; but he was personally acquainted with so many of the family, that his own authority, as the very prince of biographical gossip, may be considered all-sufficient. At that time part of the Royal Exchange was let out in small stalls or shops, perhaps something like a modern bazaar, and was a favourite and fashionable resort of the women of the highest rank. It is said that the Duchess of Tyrconnel, being reduced to absolute want on her arrival in England, and unable for some time to procure secret access to her family, hired one of the stalls under the Royal Exchange, and maintained herself by the sale of small articles of haberdashery. She wore a white dress wrapping her whole person, and a white mask, which she never removed, and excited much interest and curiosity. It is now very well known that the Duke of Marlborough was at this time carrying on some intrigues with the exiled Court and the leading Jacobites; and it is possible, and very probable, that his interview with the Duchess of Tyrconnel was partly of a political nature: this, however can only be presumed. The more apparent result of this visit was, that she obtained the restoration of a small part of her husband’s property, with permission to reside in Dublin. To that city, perhaps endeared to her as * Limerick surrendered on the 13th of October, 1691. 'I'he first siege of Limerick, in August 1690, when Tyrconnel and the Duke de Lauzun nobly defended it, and obliged William III. to raise the siege, is famous in the military history of Ireland ; and the second siege, which ended in the surrender of the city, is yet more fatally celebrated in the political annals of that miserable country. MISS JENNINGS. 221 the scene of past happiness, and power, and splendour, she returned in 1706, a widow, poor, proscribed, and broken-hearted. The account of the last years of. this celebrated beauty, and really admirable and distinguished woman, cannot be contemplated without a sad and serious feeling. While her high- spirited sister, the Duchess of Marlborough, was ruling the councils of Eng¬ land, or playing a desperate and contemptible game for power,— the sport of her own turbulent passions, and the victim of the perfidy and artifices of others, —the Duchess of Tyrconnel withdrew from the world: she established on the site of her husband’s house, in King Street, a nunnery of the order of Poor Clares, and she passed, in retreat and the practice of the most austere devotion, the rest of her varied life. Her death was miserable: one cold wintry night, during an intense frost, she fell out of her bed, and being too feeble to rise or call for assistance, she was discovered next morning lying on the fioor in a state of insensibility. It was found impossible to restore warmth or motion to her frozen limbs ; and after lingering a few hours in a half lethargic state, she gradually sank into death. She expired on the 29th of February ]730, in her eighty-second year; and on the 9th of March fol¬ lowing she was interred in the Cathedral Church of St. Patrick. Her eldest daughter by the Duke of Tyrconnel, Lady Charlotte Talbot, was married to the Prince di Vintimiglia, and left two daughters : the eldest married the Comte de Verac, and the other the Neapolitan Prince Belmonte; but both died without leaving any offspring. Of the youngest Lady Talbot, I find no account. Of the “ three Viscountesses,” Lady Dillon appears to have been the most remarkable, and to have inherited with the high blood of the Hamiltons no small share of that lively and wilful temper which distinguished her mother’s family. There is a curious tradition respecting her still preserved among the peasantry of the country in which she resided. It is related that, on the death of Lord Dillon, she inhabited Laughlin Castle, then only one of the nu¬ merous castles and palaces possessed by the Irish DiUons. This princely feudal edifice covered two acres of land; and, with the estate round it, was assigned to her as her jointure, but with the pro\dso that she should reside during her life in the castle. The lady, in her widowhood, was seized with a passion for a young Engbshman; and being unable to detain him with her, or to follow him to England as long as her castle existed, she determined on the wildest and boldest project that ever entered the head of an impetuous woman borne 222 MISS JENNINGS. away by the violence of passion : she ordered a banquet to be spread in her garden, then fired the castle, and feasted by the light of the blazing pile. After supper, and while the towers were yet burning, she set off for England with her lover. Such is the tale of the peasantry round Laughlin Castle; and it must be allowed that there are few anecdotes more striking and picturesque to be found in the chronicles of romance. The present Viscount Dillon is the lineal descendant of La Belle Jennings. Arthur Dillon, who was guillotined during the French Revolution, was her great great great grandson ; his daughter, Fanny Dillon, married General Count Bertrand, celebrated for his fidelity to Napoleon, and his long resi¬ dence at St. Helena. Portraits of the Duchess of Tyrconnel are extremely rare, and those en¬ graved for the various editions of De Grammont are all fictitious. The en¬ graving which forms the frontispiece to this work is from an original picture in the possession of Earl Spencer. THE END. LONDON : PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY, Dorset Street, Flee Street. IMPORTANT WORKS PUBLISHED FOR HENRY COLBURN, BY RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. WORKS BY THE AUTHOR OF THE “ BEAUTIES OF THE COURT OF CHARLES 11.” THE LOVES OF THE POETS; Or, MEMOIRS of WOMEN celebrated in the WRITINGS of POETS. In 2 vols. post 8to. 21s. ** Heureuse la Deaut^ que le Poele adore ! Hereux le iiom qu’il a cliani^ !’* ** This very curious work, from the same elegant pen as the ‘ 6eau> lies of the Court of Charles the Second,* and the ‘ Mc^moirs of Female Sovereigns,* is equally ricli in illustrious names, os in bright and deep reminiscences—for example, Petrarch’s Laura, Dante’s Beatrice, Chau. cer*s Philippa Picard, the Earl of Surrey’s fair Geraldine (the object of Horace Walpole’s ingenious researches), Spenser's Kusalind and Eliza, beth, Skakspeare’s beautiful enslaver, known by her attributes, though not by her name. Sir Philip Sidney’s Stella, Mary of Scots; Diana of Poictiers, Milton’s Wives, Waller’s Sacharissa, Swift’s Stella and Va. nessa, Pope’s Martha Blount («he theme of the Bowles and Byron con. troversy), Voltaire’s Madame du Ch^telet, Burns’s ’ Highland Mary,* &c.>^not to mention the names of ladies whom our living Poets, as Campbell, Wordsworth, Wilson, &c. have ’ deliglited to honour,’ and to whom graceful and delicate allusion is made in this Work.” —Sun. “ Very delightful volumes !”—Blackwood’s Mag. “These volumes are admirable; they confirm conceptions which are amongst the most brilliant and charming in the range of literary his> tory.”—Allas. THE LIVES OF CELEBRATED FEMALE SOVEREIGNS. By the Authoress of “ Memoirs of the Loves of the Poets,” “ Beauties of the Court of Charles II.,” &c. In 2 vols. post 8vo. 21s. HISTORY OF THE BRITISH NOBILITY AND GENTRY. Now ready, the Fourth Edition, corrected to 1833, in 2 vols. comprising the recently-created Peers and Baronets, and illustrated with upwards of 1500 Engravings ; among which is a fine Head of His Majesty, after Sir Thomas Lawrence’s celebrated Drawing. Price 21. 10s. neatly bound :— BURKE’S GENERAL AND HERALDIC DICTIONARY OF THE PEERAGE AND BARONETAGE OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE, For 1833. This New Edition of Mr. Burke’s popular Work, in addition to comprising, exclusively, the whole Hereditary Rank of England, Ireland, and Scotland, (exceeding fifteen hundred Families,) has been so extended as to embrace almost every individual in the remotest degree allied to those eminent houses ; so that its collateral information is now considerably more copious than that of any similar work hitherto published. The Lines of Descent have likewise been greatly enlarged, and numerous historical and biographical anecdotes, together with several curious and rare papers, have been supplied. The Peerages under discussion in the House of Lords (a new feature in such a work) are minutely detailed, and the claims upon which the respective petitioners to Parliament pray the restoration of suspended honours are fully explained. The A rmorial Ensigns have been re-engraved, on the new and improved plan of incorporation with the letter-press, so that the existing stats of each family, with its lineage and arms, will be found together. HISTORY OF THE GENTRY OF ENGLAND. A COMPANION TO THE PEERAGE AND BARONETAGE. Elegantly printed in royal 8vo. with the Armorial Ensigns of each Family beautifully engraved by Thompson, Parts 1 and 2, price 7s. 6d. each of BURKE’S HISTORY OF THE COMMONERS OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND, Qualified by Landed Property to become Members of Parliament. The novelty and utility of this undertaking combine to invest it with no common claims to public attention. The highly-influential and extensive class to whom it refers have hitherto possessed no work of reference exhibiting an entire and authentic account of their respective families, although it is obvious how large a share of interest attaches to such an object, both for the parties themselves, and for all con¬ nected with them, by the ties either of alliance, friendship, neighbourhood, patronage, or political constituency. Those Gentlemen who may have additional communications to make to the Editor are requested to address their letters, free of postage, to Mr. Collurn, 13, Great Marlborough Street. Elegantly printed in double columns, 28s. hound, BURKE’S EXTINCT, DORMANT, AND SUS¬ PENDED PEERAGES; A necessary Companion to all other Peerages. This work comprises the whole of the Peerages winch have been suspended or extinguished since the Conquest, particu¬ larizing the Members of each Family, in each Generation, and bringing the Lineage, in all possible cases, through either Collaterals or Females, down to existing Houses ; it connects, in many instances, the new with the old Nobility; and it will, in all cases, show the cause which has influenced the revival of an extinct dignity in a new creation. It should be particularly noticed, that this new Work appertains nearly as much to extant as to extinct Persons oi Distinction; for though Dignities pass away, it rarely occurs that whole Families do. WASHINGTON IRVING’S NEW SKETCH BOOK. THE ALHAMBRA. By Geoffrey Crayon, Author of the “ Sketch Book,” “ Tales of a Traveller,” &c. Second and cheaper Edition, in 2 vols. post 8vo. 16s. Contents Interior of the Alhambra—The Author’s Chamber—Inhabitants of the Alhambra — Visitors to the Alhambra— The Alhambra by Moonlight — The 'Tower of Comares_The Court of Lions—Prince Ahmed A1 Kamel; or the Pilgrim of Love — The Moor’s Legacy—The Rose of the Alhambra—The Governor and the Notary—The Governor and the Soldier—The Two Discreet Statues—Muhamed Abou Alahinar—Jusef Abul Hagiag. IMPORTANT WORKS PUBLISHED FOR HENRY COLBURN. THE EX-QUEEN OF HOLLAND. ROMANCES, MISES EN MUSIQUE par HORTENSE BEAUHARNAIS, DUCHESSE DE SAINT LEU, EX-REINE DE HOLLANDB, Daughter of the EMPRESS JOSEPHINE; embellished with Twelve Plates, illustrative of the Scenes of several Romances, beautifully engraved on Steel, from the original designs of the Duchess ; and accompanied with her Portrait and Fac-simile. In one vol. price 25s. bound. THE GARRICK PAPERS. MEMOIRS OF DAVID GARRICK. Including his PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE with the most celebrated Persons of his time; now first pub¬ lished from the Originals. Printed uniformly with Evelyn and Pepys. In 2 vols., with a fine Portrait. This highly interesting and important tvork comprises up¬ wards of two thousand letters from persons of tb.e greatest eminence in the political, literary, and dramatic world. Wiien we consider that he was the favourite of Dr, Johnson, the friend and companion of liie celebrated Lord Camden, the a.ssociate of Quin and Foote, and Barry and Henderson, the proteg^ of Pope, the correspondent of Bishop Warburton, the fosterer of tlie early genius of Sheridan and Siddons—when we remember all this, we can readily comprehend the interest that, even at tliis comparatively distant period, must be attached to the biography of such a man.**—Sun. DODDRIDGE’S CORRESPONDENCE and DIARY ; including many Particulars in his Life hitherto unknown, with Notices of many of his Contemporaries, and a Sketch of the Times in which he lived. Published from the original MSS. by his Grandson, J. DODDRIDGE HUMPHREYS, Esq. In 5 large vols. 8vo. with fine Por¬ trait. Price 31. 15s. N. B.—Either of the Volumes may be had to complete Sets. ** We know not when, if ever, we have perused volumes uf the dc’seripti'" n of those now before us, with more intense curiosity, amuse* meni, and instruction.**—Literary Guzeite. These volumes must rank with our drst English classics, and must go down to posterity as specimens of the English language rarely sur« passed.”—Evangelical Magazine. HISTORICAL WORKS. GODWIN’S HISTORY OF THE COMMONWEALTH OF ENGLAND, from its Commencemekt to the Restoration of Charles II. Complete in 4 vols. 8vo. 21. ICs. N.B.—Either of the volumes may he had separately, to complete Sets. This work is a solid proof of great endowments and abilities.”— Literary Gazette. An invaluable accession of authorities from the records of the pro¬ ceedings of the Long Parliament, recently discovered in the Stalc-Paper OflP.ce, and the collection of Commonwealth Tracts given by George HI. to the British Museum, have enabled Mr. Godwin to throw much new liglit upon the general history of the time. MEMOIRS of the GREAT LORD BURGHLEY, Secretary of State in the Reign of King Edward VI. and Lord High Treasurer of England in the Reign of Queen Elizabeth ; containing an Historical View of the Times in which he lived, and of many of the eminent and illustrious Persons with whom he was connected ; with Extracts from his Private Correspondence and Journals, now first published from the Originals. By the Rev. Dr. NARES, Regius Professor of Modern History in the University of Oxford. Complete in 3 vols, with Portraits, &c. ** This elaborate work is of the highest national interest; item- braces and discusses a multitude of great historical, biographical, religious, and political questions, and throws much light upon an era of almost unparalleled national and universal importance.**—Literary Gazette. COMMENTARIES On the LIFE and REIGN of CHARLES I. King of Eng¬ land. By J. D’lSRAELI. 5 vols. 8vo. 31. 3s. Either of which may be had separately. ” The ‘ Commentaries on the Life and Reign of Charles 1.* form by far the most important work upon that important age that modern times have produced. More curious diligence and sagacity have seldom been exercised upon any portion of History, and seldom with so much success.*'—Quarterly Review, July 1832. THE HISTORY of MODERN GREECE. By JAMES EMERSON, Esq. of Trinity College, Dublin. In 2 large vols. 8vo. 16s. ‘‘ This important work will supply a deficiency often, felt and regret¬ ted in English literature. The annals of liie country, which at every stage abound with the strongest interest, are followed up to the present day, and include, of course, a history of the Greek Revolution.** —Globe. THE CROMWELLIAN DIARY. The DIARY of THOMAS BURTON. Esq. MEMBER in the PARLIAMENTS of the PROTEC¬ TORS OLIVER and RICHARD CROMAYELL. from 1656 to 1659, now first published from the original Auto¬ graph 31anuscript; with an Introduction and Notes, Histo¬ rical and Biographical. In 4 large vols. 8vo. with Plates. 21. 8s. ** This work serves to fill up that chasm so long existing in our Parliamentary History.**—Literary Gazette. “ The great interest of the book is Cromwell himself.**—Gentleman’s Magazine. Tliese volumes overflow with information respecting the principles and proceedings of the Legislature during a most important period of English history. Every library which pretends to contain an historical collection, must possess itself of Burton*s Diary : it is as indispensable as Burnet or Clarendon.**—Atlas. MExMOIRS and CORRESPONDENCE of SAMUEL PEPYS, Esq. F.R.S. Secretary to the Admiralty in the Reigns of Charles II. and James II. and the intimate friend of the celebrated John Evelyn. Edited by Lord Braybrooke. New Edition, in 5 vols. 8vo. embellished with Portraits and other Engravings, by the first Artists. 21. 5s. Notwithstanding the extensive popularity of the Memoirs of Grammont, and the still greater attraction of shose of Evelyn, we have no hesitation in stating our opinion that these volumes will outstrip them both in public estimation.**—Literary Gazette. THE LIVES OF THE RIGHT HON. FRAN¬ CIS NORTH, BARON GUILFORD, Lord Keeper of the Great Seal under King Charles II. and King James II.; of the Hon. SIR DUDLEY NORTH, Commissioner of the Customs, and afterwards of the Treasury, to King Charles II. ; and of the Hon. and Rev. Dr. JOHN NORTH, Master of Trinity College, Cambridge, and Clerk of the Closet to King Charles 11. By the Hon. Roger North ; with Notes and Illustrations, Historical and Biographical. A New Edition, in 3 vols. 8vo. with Portraits. 1/. 7s- MEMOIRS of LADY FANSHAWE, Wife of the Right Hon. Sir Richard Fanshawe, Bart., Am- bassador from Charles II. to the Court of Madrid. Written by Herself, now first published from the original Manuscript. Second Edition, post 8vo. with Portrait. 9s. This is a very delightful volume—delightful for its simplicity and domestic interest.*’—Literary Gazette. “ These Memoirs will probably take their place by the side of Mrs. Hutchinson’s Memoirs, a praise which the admirers uf the latter will know how to estimate.”—Spectator i / I